The Lion and The Serpent, Revealed
by ravengabrielle
Summary: SEQUEAL TO The Lion and The Serpent, Hidden. This picks up after the war, Hermione and Draco are stuck on their sides cultivated during the war. Five long years of complete silence between the pair is about to break, as motions put in place during their Hogwarts times, are about to transcend. Dramione story. Rated M for pretty much everything. They are adults now.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Sorry for interrupting the first story before it starts but just a warning for this chapter. It does contain self-harm episode, character death. **

Chapter 1

A sky pregnant with darkness loomed overhead. Sparse droplets fell through the empty air of expansive grounds in a gentle pitter patter. The wet deterred many. Black umbrellas hoisted high. The wind whipped through the party with a sudden push, upturning umbrellas and pulling at their forlorn faces as they stared straight ahead with lack luster eyes.

Petals from hearty arrangements fluttered in the wind as a river of color in reminder of what happiness looked like. It stood out decidedly against the black ensemble of mourners gathered around a freshly dug grave. Rows and rows of flowers stood near the onyx headstone. The black marker joined a host of other stones in a foggy graveyard enclosed in hedges grown feet overhead, groomed to block out the cheery sunlight on days it dared enter.

Most other stones were grown over with luscious well-kept grass, apart from three others covered in shortened sprouts of the ancient grass. It took years for the thick carpet to grow in full. The graves were still too young to be completely claimed to the estate, still a freshened shock of grief.

Beside the mound of dirt stood a woman. A blank slate of features etched in beauty long drawn out by the harsh edges of life. The luster of her platinum blonde hair fell limp at her shoulders, in place by a few charms the elves knew.

A faraway haze clouded her eyes as she stared at the coffin presented in front of her. Thick mahogany carved from an ancient tree upon the grounds encased the body of her infant son, born sleeping. She carried the corpse of her son around inside her womb, a constant reminder of her failure, her pain, her tortured fate. Born to the world in death, a black shimmer out of her innards into the world as Pandora's box of blackness.

Oft she wondered, as she wandered through the shadowy edges of the forest, what she'd done to deserve a fate so cursed. She'd minded her parents, studied hard despite in lack of natural intellect, followed the path gently laid in front of her as a pureblooded witch did. She was kind and faithful. Not once did her heart raise in anger. Her patience flowed through her in compassion even when others did not understand.

Her marriage to a broken man was evidence of that. He was so truly broken and worn down that he hadn't the energy to lift his hopes. She was not his first choice for a wife; that was plainly clear. His heart belonged somewhere else, far lost after a war of good and evil. He'd lost whatever it was that kept him true. But she pushed forth when no other would spare a second look at his desperation. It broke her heart to see the strength of him so withered when she knew just how withstanding he was, inside himself.

It was by her effort that her husband emerged from a shell and picked up whatever remains were there to make himself a successful man and husband. Love was between them, not in the typical way, but of two friends bonded in their strength of loss.

The failure to produce any living souls from her body sank deeper than mere bodily failure. She knew its importance. When she hadn't promised passionate love, she'd promised to fulfill his duties alongside. Things were expected. Heirs were important. A line hinged on her ability.

Or inability.

It was a bitter taste against her tongue.

Still, she stood on the edge of abyss where her son was to be laid and dreamed of climbing inside with him. The endless dark was unbearable for her to picture his tiny frame trapped under the heavy growing weight of blackness.

How she wished it was her laid in the casket lined in fluffy pillows of satin and silk, precious white with enchanted lace woven through. An everlasting warming charm for her cold son. The chill of his empty soul not bared to the light.

The elves had dragged her from bed mere hours before and readied her when she hadn't the faintest desire to ever wake again. They had dragged her to breakfast where her husband was noticeably absent until the last few minutes.

It was a cold reception in the presence of her mother-in-law. She sat there, perched on the edge of her seat as pure born witches did, and chewed with intended grace, as if the funeral of her grandchild was not upon them.

The stare of the woman's eye only ever ventured forth to pierce her with distain. She was the last choice for her husband and his mother.

It was only a minute with her back turned that she'd hear the sharp voice of her mother-in-law as she spoke to her son.

"Even as distasteful as she was, your first one was better than this sorry witch. I wish you never married her."

Failure to produce an heir encouraged the hatred to emerge farther into daylight, less in passing mutters under breath.

Rain fell in thicker showers as the moments passed. The graveyard pooled underfoot. Soft mud drenched robe hems and boot heels as the families quickly departed from the depressing affair outside toward the socialite gathering within the manor where her mother-in-law boasted her prowess over the darkest of occasions to something meant for the papers.

Her own mother and father dipped away from sight, swallowed whole by the hedges. She scarcely noticed they arrived. It was beyond her care.

No, there was not much to care about now. Four children within hollow ground gave little meaning to much else there was in the world.

The entire world beneath her grasp, riches immense and unending, and she only wanted the little frozen bodies below the grass. Their precious bodies to be filled with fat ripples and joyous laughs, or even horrendous colicky screams. She'd gladly take it all. Nonstop crying, endless nursing, up all night and all day. The cycle of exhaustion and loneliness. It was her life already. Where was the reward? Where was her happy ending for all the suffering she endured just to carry them? Painful test after painful test. Spell after spell. Bitter potion upon sour bile. She'd paid the dues. She carried the weight.

Where was her reward?

"Astoria," a voice called out through the harsh applause of rain.

She'd hardly noticed, but now it down poured. Juicy rains drenched through her robes down to the cold bones beneath her flesh with ease. The very soul of her was numb. A little rain did not deter her.

"Astoria come away. It is time to leave." The voice was firm. It only wavered slight.

How she admired whatever place he stored his strength. It was a deep well. Hers was a dried puddle, all used up.

Her lips trembled as she watched the wood descend within the dark hole.

"No," she whispered.

A hand clasped her upper arm, pinching it in firm hold. "It is time for us to leave."

"I will never leave this place," was her reply before she felt her feet move out from under her, toward the split in the hedges where immaculate lawns awaited.

But even as she stepped out beside her husband into the domain that was theirs, she felt utterly trapped inside the foggy dark of the Malfoy family graveyard where her heart entirely rested.

The estate's shadow greeted them with indifference. So many were laid to rest below its trusted protection. It hardly mattered who it was. The second they dipped below the fleshy earth, the estate swallowed them into consciousness. Their magic bonded to the essence within the walls.

No matter how long she lived there, the manor treated her as guest. Imposter. Like she resided in a position unfit for her. Station reserved for another.

The despair had long since died away. She no longer cared whether she belonged or not. In fact, it was clear she didn't. But her husband fought for her to be there anyway, beside the torn feeling in his gut.

He tried to grab hold of her hand, but she left it limp by her side.

A deep sigh split through the still of quieting rain. "We will try again and again. No matter how long it takes, we will always try."

"No." She said it so resolutely. "This is my end."

"We cannot give up."

Give up. The moment she felt magic die inside her, for a fourth time, the will to give was gone. All given. There was no place left to give from. She was entirely buried beneath the ground yet forced to walk amongst the living in twisted punishment.

"I will not be responsible for another death," she replied flatly.

They stepped through the threshold, entered the manor without ceremony as all the guests were too busily entertained by their elder hostess. Only hostess, if she thought about it. A living guest in her own home.

Her husband flicked his wand, hanging her cloak in place with the others. His grey eyes scoured over her face, a feeling that once invoked great shame, but the day of her final child's funeral was the one time that she remained fixed in his gaze unfazed by his insulted scowl.

"It was not your fault," he said. "It was mine. All of them are my fault. This bloody cursed family."

Her face remained untouched by any onslaught of emotion. A ghost of herself. Witch half consumed by nothingness. She stayed put, arms limp at her sides, strands of hair stuck to her cheeks without attention.

Her husband grabbed hold of her shoulders and forced his gaze into hers. "Do not give up. We can do this."

Although she nodded, he knew very well that it was indeed her end of the matter. Her side-step of his touch as he reached out for her. The witch he needed was long gone, and in her place was an apparition that kept his daze alive. An ending he dreamed of all his nights. Happiness in a place so filled with hate. Children to fill a void in his broken heart so that his sleepless nights amounted to something other than emptiness.

Astoria glided through the gathering. She felt as hollow as a crushed eggshell. Her heart barely thumped beneath her aching breast, still engorged with first milk. The Healer prescribed something to ease the pain, but she refused. The pain made it real. The reminder of what hopes did. The heavy feeling at her chest of the complete failure she was to a man who'd shown her only kindness and friendship.

It almost made her feel sad.

Almost.

She hadn't felt anything in a long time.

That night she stared out over the expanse of Malfoy Manor with nothing but empty eyes. She saw all the things it was, but not the beautiful that she remembered was there. All she saw were flowers on stem, battered down by the heavy rain. Grass crumpled underfoot of guests. The lake reflected utter black under a sky so filled with melancholy clouds. Little mounds of dirt ravaged by gnomes, ones that forever plagued the house elves on staff.

But once her eyes turned up above, she saw an entirely different reflection. Brilliant stars shined through darkness and clouds in impossible feat. They burned bright and brighter. No matter how the darkness closed in, they sat comfortably amongst the company of so many above.

Her son's constellation was there. The grouping burned brightest within her retinas as she stared off to the happy place her son's being resided. Clouds moved round the constellation like they knew his power. His calling.

It called to her.

"Come, Mother," it cried out to her. "It is time to leave."

Indeed, it was… time to leave.

Astoria summoned her quill and parchment. Her delicate strokes bled beautifully for once. So precious and with purpose. For once, she was doing something enthralling to her soul.

She placed the note atop her bedspread for the one who found her. The only person alive who cared for her, and yet was broken by the fortune she could not bring to his dignity. There was no restoration for him that came with her. It was elsewhere.

Underneath her bed, fixed in a small wooden box were a few things she needed. Her fingers traced the carvings of her own fingers that lined its entirely, stretched through a night sky of constellations and brilliant moons. Only her tears would reveal the secrets within.

The smooth wood rested in hand, splayed open with little things found within. Four velvet pouches with blonde curls stored within. She fingered each one gently, careful to save every last hair for her husband whom would come to appreciate the memory in time. A small handkerchief rested along the bottom. It scented the box with a heavenly aroma.

Her firstborn. She slept with the handkerchief for three days before her heart finally stopped.

Astoria rubbed the cloth against her nose and inhaled deeply. So heavy and drowsy, her fingers trembled at the exertion to place the box against the parchment.

The very little last bit of her offered up so that he might know peace.

She found her strength to find a vial within her pockets. The small glass felt unbelievably heavy. She'd carried it around with her for months, unable to end it all with the faintest bit of selfish hope that her son would be born awake, like she'd dreamed the nightmare of losing his soul from hers.

It took her months of subtle research before she found the one potion, so rare, that would surely keep her from being revived no matter how extensive the efforts. Bloodroot potion. Death in a bottle.

Her eyes glistened back out toward the stars. Her son's stars still burned. Waiting for her.

"It is time to leave," they called out. "Come, Mother. The end is near."

For the first time in years, her eyes bubbled with tears but not of sadness. Relief. It was soon to be the happy ending she hoped for. A fate with her children within the sky. Their love as unending as the sky above.

A body thudded to the floor. It seized violently, shaking her legs and neck until one wicked tremor cracked her skull against a bedpost and stilled instantly. Beneath layers of black tulle and satin laid a pair of cream-white ankles. Clutched in hand was a handwoven handkerchief embroidered in dainty bluebell flowers edged in cream.

Just overhead atop a perfectly made bed of pastel yellow and lilac were the last words of Astoria Malfoy.

_Our children called me home. Do not forget me, Draco, or her. She was your love and I was your friend. We both deserve to see you happy. I'm sorry it was not me that could._


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"Caspian Regulus Granger, stop it right now!"

The five-year-old had grabbed hold of paintbrushes smothered in evergreen and smeared the hue along the outside of his paper. Careful black strokes outlined simple stick trees in organized rows. Intense grey eyes followed his brush as he placed globs of color in deliberate spaces, sure to smooth them flat. In all his concentration, his little touch poked out the corner of his mouth. It remained fixed as he worked. Despite the over-the-top wailing of his older sister.

"Mummy, he's ruining it!" The girl shrieked. "I worked hard to show him just how to do it right and he's ruined it. The bugger."

Hermione Granger raised her eyes from her novel. "Madison. Don't call your brother a bugger."

"He doesn't listen," the girl replied in annoyance.

"No, Madi. He can't talk. That doesn't mean he doesn't listen." The witch frowned.

Her daughter was impeccably intelligent, a total sponge for any skill or talent. She floated with grace, beauty and sharp precision. Even in her younger years, she was a perfectionist. It reached epic proportions now that it included control over her younger brother.

It was not done in cruelty. Madison only wished her brother to strive to be like her. She taught her ways to the mute boy with gusto. So much so, that Hermione felt a small twinge of worry extended toward her small brood. She wondered if her daughter worried about him. What would happen if she wasn't there to teach him how to be smart and strong? It was the little act that solidified the fact her daughter was extraordinary and because her brother was below her, it caused her worry.

That protective possessive edge.

Hermione dropped the book to her lap and crawled up toward their crafts table at the edge of their playroom decorated ceiling to floor with all their fascinating artworks. Animals were Madison's favorite. She excelled at crafting a lifelike image from a book or picture. The breathtaking details were lost to children double, triple her age, yet her small mind managed to examine each like it was the most important.

Cass's were more focused on scenes. Forests, and rocks, and shore lines. They reflected his age with sharp edges, thick lines and undefined features. Still, so much work was put into his that it broke her heart to watch him struggle to complete it the way he wished. On those days, he'd bury his face in his hands and stare at it until the conclusion finally dawned on him.

His little pink tongue wiggled as he dropped his finger into the green once more. He flattened his finger against the paper over and over again until a texture of grass waded up through the forest line.

"Madi, let him do his own thing. That is what you're supposed to do," Hermione said softly. "We each have our own way of doing things. Let him find his."

Madison was silent for a while as she watched her little brother work, frown growing deeper as he placed a color in a place she did not approve of. Hermione watched the little girl struggle with her own control. It was the perfectionist of her coming out.

The look so much like her father when he restrained himself from being controlling in the same manner.

It was so odd how traits passed down like that. Though they'd never met, they acted very much the same. So controlled and perfect. They both excelled at everything they put their mind to in such an arrogant fashion, it burned. Facial expressions. Even their sharp tongues spoke toward their relation.

Few knew the truth of Hermione's children's father. She kept that information rather guarded, since he was still a prominent member of the wizarding world. It was the one reason why she never ventured toward magical London with them in tow.

One wisp of wind, and the press would sniff them out.

It was the last thing she wanted for them. They deserved to be sheltered, cared for and protected from the scrutiny that would come from the happenstance of their birth. The entire world would question just from who they sprung from.

That led to another line of questioning, only it'd be from their father whom had no inclination of their existence.

Hermione's hand trembled slightly, incapable of preventing the reaction more than choking on air. The fury from their father would bring her to the brink of collapse, as it did when she was forced to abandon him during the war.

Being on different sides and danger on all sides, she'd had no choice. He would have exposed himself. All for her, their children. She knew it was the only way to ensure he'd look out for himself, and it happened to be the one way that ensured there was no hope for the relationship after the war. It was a betrayal to him. Lack of her faith in him. That cut deeper than any spell could.

A sharp sting came to the corner of her eye as she beheld both of their precious children in their silent focus on their own projects, completely ignorant of their mother's heartbreak all over again. Her chest shuddered. She loved them with all her heart, but it was only a shadow of how much she loved their father, even still. Even though his hatred of her was very clear by the five years of silence since the war, a small piece of Hermione wished for that man to come back to her with love in his heart and not fury.

A clock chimed off in house, snapping Hermione out of her reverie. It was time for them to leave for school. Thank Merlin. She nearly descended down a dark hole of depression, again.

"Madi, please put the paint away," Hermione instructed. She turned and lightly rubbed her son's cheek. "Time to go, darling."

The young girl did as she was told, with the small bit of help from her magic. Magic beyond the abilities of most first years. She guessed it was due to the fact that her parentage held two powerful magicians far above their own peers.

Hermione watched the bottles levitate toward their station. All their craft supplies were organized and labeled properly. Each thing held a single place and belonged nowhere else. Slender pale fingers reached up and twisted each cap tight, a soft smile of satisfaction across her pink lips.

Young Cass reached up for his mother's hand. It was still chubby with bits of baby still left in him. She was ever grateful for his slow aging. He was forever her baby, the last one. If only it lasted longer than a few years. She'd gotten many stolen away from her, thanks to the war.

He had only just been born when the Battle of the Astronomy Tower happened. It was not long after that she was forced to hide them all away from the wizards, unfortunately obscuring their memories of her in the process.

Ever since she reappeared, cleared their memories and took them home, Caspian clung to her in desperation. He hated being anywhere without his mum near. Admittedly, it made Hermione feel good to know just how much her son loved her. She felt the same way.

It ripped her being in two to be parted from them now. Still, each day, the Ministry required her to appear within the building, without children.

Each morning she faced that decision whether to hoard them with her hugs and kisses or to release them to their schools, where they very well belonged. Though it ate away at her soul, she knew that their Muggle education was far more important than her own selfish need to suffocate in their love since it was the only kind she had.

Only a matter of time before the letter came to steal away her daughter. Hogwarts laid claim on the girl before she'd turned two. Magic so easily slid through the little girl's fingers. Hermione cried when she heard. It meant that Madison would be carted away into the Magical World, apart from her mother and into the mouth of the devilish reporters that were sure to notice Hermione at King's Cross with a little girl in hand.

Merlin, it burned her chest.

Soon, the lie would come crashing down. She just felt it.

"Caspian, you've wrecked your shirt. Again." Madi stared at the stain with a wrinkled nose. "You're a mess."

The grey eyes dropped to the droplets of black paint on his trousers he hadn't noticed were there. A soft sloping came to their round curves. His bottom lip puffed out in pout.

Just as she was about to scorn her daughter for being so harsh, the little girl placed her stretched palm out over the stain and closed her eyes with all her might. Creases upon creases crossed her face as she pushed all her magic through her hand.

It took a quiet moment, but black started to rise up from the fabric.

Cass watched with fascination as the paint lifted away from his clothes and onto a nearby to hand towel.

Another second passed before Madi released a large sigh for her little chest. She huffed, face bright red from exertion.

"You don't need to push so hard," Hermione said softly, rubbing her fingers down the sides of Madi's soft cheeks. The poor girl was drained. "Accio chocolate bar."

A bit of chocolate brought the color back to her daughter's face and a jealous brother clambered for a piece of the goodness. Hermione smiled, splitting the piece off before he fell off his chair in excitement.

"I did it though, didn't I?" There was a bit of pride in her tone as she nibbled the piece of candy.

So much of her father.

"Yes, you did. It was excellent. But, you don't have to push yourself to please everyone." She cradled Madi's pale face inside her hands with such sadness. It was the very face of someone she loved so very deeply, in place that were so engrained in parts of her soul. A love that wouldn't fit anyone else. Except her children. "We are allowed to have limits."

"I knew I could do it, Mum. And he can't. I did it because I'm strong enough to," Madi said. "Just like you did during the war. Uncle Blaise said you did something so hard, but you knew you were strong enough to stand it. Not matter how much it hurt you."

She was wiser than the average seven-year-old. Hermione realized just how mature she was for a girl that should be interested in butterfly stickers and clothes. Part of her was proud her daughter was beyond things like that, but truthfully, Madi wasn't entirely uninterested. Madi loved to look pristine, well-groomed and put together. It just wasn't an interest. She had hobbies beyond her appearance.

Madison wanted to be smart. She wanted to be clever. She wanted to excel at everything. She had a different spark than her mother, too. Madison was so sure of herself. Hermione hadn't been any bit confident like that. As a child she was plagued with insecurities that kept her striving toward an edge where she might be worthy.

Her daughter already knew she was worthy, and that, was beautiful.

Hermione regarded her daughter with a kind smile. "Yes, darling. You did brilliant."

"I love you, Mum."

"Love you, too. Now come on. Let's get Cass ready before he starts another one. Then we'll never get out of here on time."

They walked hand in hand to find the third person of their party before they readied themselves with packed lunches, jumpers and shoes then they entered a Muggle neighborhood and walked to their separate Muggle schools.

Caspian was dropped off first. He waddled away, hesitant to leave his mother and sister, as he was every morning. Hermione had to give him an extra gentle nudge toward his teacher before his little legs would start moving. Not without a few glances over his shoulder either.

Madison and Hermione watched him enter the building before turning down a nearby street toward Madison's school. It was a higher end school. Madi was already in gifted programs and was selected to attend an exclusive one to propel her education farther. It was partly what made her daughter an impossible force to deal with. They butted heads constantly.

That inherited stubborn nature reinforced with such pampering and praise.

"Mummy?" The girl asked after an unusually quiet walk.

Hermione guessed something rotated around her little girl's mind, but what, she couldn't tell.

She gripped her hand tighter as they readied to cross the street. "Hm?"

"Will Cass ever talk?"

Oh. That was something new.

She guessed it confused her daughter, who was so confident and sure of the world she lived in. Cass didn't fit. He struggled to be natural like her. Mostly, he preferred to be by himself in silence.

Hermione watched Madi struggle with it with silent hopes that she'd come to terms with his differences.

Safely on the other side of the road, Hermione allowed herself a small sigh. "There is no limit to what anyone can do. He may learn to talk one day."

Warm, brown eyes looked up at her face, uncertain. "Uncle Blaise says we should accept the fact that he'll never talk. Cass is too old to start, he says."

"Well, Blaise is right." Hermione cursed the wizard infinitely for being so candid with a little girl. Their bond was special, she knew and respected that, but Madi was only a child. "Cass may never talk."

"Why?"

The big question. Why. Why didn't her son speak?

A block of a school emerged in view. The slate gray building jutted out in the landscape of suburban pale peach and dull white homes as they lined streets, stuffed full of pristine landscaping with as many colors as England could provide in the constant rain of summer. It was sharp and edged with defined lines of the cube building. It was clearly an intuition. Peaked roofs with decorative molding passed by as they trekked farther down the sidewalk.

"His brain is just a little different. But that doesn't mean he is less than anyone," she added sharply with the intent to instill the message within her daughter. Tolerance. She needed to be taught tolerance over differences. Because there were many differences between her and other witches her age, families of hers, lives like hers and brothers. They were all a stark difference in the magical world rather than the muggle one. She blended in with the muggles quite well. "He will always be your brother and be different. It's our job to love him no matter how much he is able."

"Was Daddy different?"

It was an innocent enough question. The little girl was curious. She knew she had a father. Blaise lifted the veil of curiosity, but within the realm of appropriate regarding their father.

All the girls in her class had dedicated fathers. Madison saw them in the morning when they dropped off at the start of school, and Hermione burned with ache every time there was a long look in their direction. In a normal world without a Dark Lord, Madi would have had a more than loving father with an undying dedication to her every whim.

Hermione Granger knew firsthand just how special it felt to be spoiled with his affection.

"No, darling. It was your mum who was different."

The sidewalk crowded with other students and parents as they moved toward the entrance of the school's grounds. Madi's grip fell from Hermione's. It was the sign of her independence that she exercised in front of her friends. Merlin forbid they knew she had a mother.

A group of chattering girls stood near the teeter-totter, encouraged louder only when Madison approached with a small smirk quipped on her lips. They crooned over her, just as they did every morning.

Even in her youth, she was admired. Her personality drew everyone in, bewitched them to all be in awe of her ability, and, likely, because of her beauty.

Madison had the Malfoy platinum blonde hair in fishtailed braids down her back with a Malfoy pointed nose. The nose of an aristocrat as her father always said. It was small in the middle of her face, pointed in a sharp edge. Her slender frame was longer and leaner than other girls. She was all legs. Taller than her father was at that age.

The only thing Hermione recognized as herself was the pair of large brown eyes that observed everything closely that came close. She knew it was truly the only feature her daughter had that was her own.

Caspian was different. His locks were curly in light brown hue. It was much lighter than her own, but just the same mess when it wasn't dried properly. He boasted a smaller, frail frame and had her face entirely. Except for his eyes, which were his father's grey. He definitely had the demeanor of him as well. Cool and collected.

Madison was more impulsive and quicker to temper, which was much like her father at her age.

It was difficult to decide just who they would more resemble in the end.

Hermione watched her daughter join her friends, careful to not overplay her hand, and with a quick glance over her shoulder, she waved her mother away.

With a long sigh, it was time for Hermione to continue on the journey of the morning to the Ministry.

It was an unceremonious walk until she neared the apparition point. That was where certain reporters found her to snap shots of her coming and going from work only to print them in concern of her appearance and fashion and new beau suggestions. The demeaning experience gave her a slight edge of aggression toward the paparazzi. More than once, she hexed a few trying to steal pictures of her out to dinner, on dates, trying to follow her home.

It never ended. Her fame was just as popular as Harry Potter's and Ron Weasley's and even, the father of her children who was reported on without pictures.

He'd become a recluse since the war and his trial. She could only imagine just how different he was with his father imprisoned, his business booming and his life entirely unknown to the rest of the world. It was unlike him. The wizard loved attention.

Thoughts of him stopped when she reached the café inside the Ministry, as was custom. She only allowed herself the five-minute commute toward the café to ponder his life. Any longer than five minutes gave her an unstoppable wave of sadness.

The dark-haired barista named Clovis appeared, crooked smile. Same as every morning. With all her power, she swallowed back the bitter taste of disappointed hopes, returned a small smile and ordered her usual though she knew he remembered it well.

She arrived at her desk, tea in hand, just as Harry and Ronald swung by for their informal gathering. It was still early. Either of them being at work was a miracle, given their love of sleeping late. But it was their weekly get together.

Lives at the Ministry moved so fast. Their workloads were entirely different. Harry and Ron moved all around, investigating and responding to all sorts of information they obtained. Half the time they weren't even in London.

It left the Golden Trio so little time to gather and spend time with each other before life caught up with them. Hermione's schedule alone was enough to drive anyone crazy.

"Where's the fire?" She teased from behind her cup.

They shook out their tired eyes.

Ron entered first. Taller and wider than he had been only three years ago. Fatherhood did that to him. With a baby that always ate, it was hard to let the little man eat alone, apparently. Luckily, Padma had the decency to hide the sweet treats from him at night.

He grumbled a reply, as he swiped the bakery bag off her desk. Then threw it down when he saw the plain bran muffins inside.

"Really Mione? These awful things? You trying to kill me?"

Harry chuckled, in a more positive mood despite the early hour. He'd just rolled out of bed, it looked. Hair stuck in every direction, red lines of sleep across his skin still.

"Go on, Ron. I'll eat one if you do." Harry tried to encourage his partner on.

Being an Auror demanded a lot from a wizard. Physical endurance was one. The annual test was approaching, and Ron was not ready. He never was, but this year was especially rough. He was at his heaviest and weakest in terms of temptation.

"Don't care if you have one. I just don't want to eat it," Ron snipped. "It's like eating out of a billy goat's trough."

Hermione rolled her eyes. So dramatic. "Ronald Weasley. You will eat those muffins and not complain. You work here so that Padma might be able to stay home with your child. If you lose your job, she may very well have to start work again and your son will never see either of you. You don't want that, do you?"

A flash of anger, then defeat. His head bowed as he grabbed hold of the muffin.

"No. Guess not."

A stream of crumbs fell down his chest as he bit down into his breakfast. At least it was in a neat little pile for Hermione to banish later.

Success of getting him to eat healthier was worth the mess. No matter how much it bothered her.

Her two friends settled into her office chairs, eating at their muffins and lazily moving while she started to arrange her stacks of paperwork for her day. It was the one late night she worked during the week. She managed her workload carefully enough to only need it one night per work week.

Ginny was kind enough to gather Madison and Cass from school and bring them back to her house so they might finish their homework and eat before Hermione got home, quite exhausted and too drained to eat anything other than a finger sandwich.

"So, I heard a rumor the other day," Harry stated evenly. He slouched against the back of the chair, wrinkling his long black Auror robes. "It's about someone we all know."

Hermione was too lost inside her work to pay his gossip any mind. She got enough from Ginny the way it was.

Ron was easier to bait.

"Oh yeah?" He asked with interested eyes. "Who about?"

"Daphne Greengrass," Harry said. "Well, Nott now. But she apparently caught Nott in a compromising position with another witch and has filed for divorce."

The silence dropped like a quill.

"Divorce?" Hermione repeated, surprised.

"Can't do that. Wizards don't _allow _divorces," Ron snorted, happy to return to his bran muffin now that his hunger was slowly sated.

A pair of round glasses shoved up Harry's nose. "That's what I heard. It's caused a stir everywhere. Word is, Malfoy heir himself went over to talk some sense in her before she ruins herself."

That caught Hermione's breath, as it always did whenever that name was mentioned.

"Ruin herself and her family," Ron replied. "Wizards don't allow divorce. There is no way she'll accomplish anything but get them all in a ruffle before it ends."

"They do allow divorces, Ronald. It just isn't common."

"No, they don't. Can't start the trend," he said. "Can't have everyone getting divorced, now can we? We'd never survive."

Ron turned to his other friend. "It's illegal, isn't it, Harry? Go on. Tell her."

Harry blanched visibly under the weight of his two best friends staring at him expectantly.

"I don't know why you insist on putting me in the middle. You know I don't know these things." Harry sighed. His hand rubbed his chin where a faint stain of facial hair hid.

It was a default answer. The one thing that rubbed Hermione the wrong way. She knew much more than Ron Weasley, something everyone acknowledged quite frequently, yet she was grouped with him just the same.

Frankly, and secretly, she knew firsthand that divorce within the magical world was possible.

"I get it, Mione. Muggles get divorced all the time. But look at the lot of them. They've got so many of them that it doesn't matter if they have children or not. We have to be different. We barely have numbers the way it is, after the war. If we left divorce be accepted into society, it won't be long before magic is lost."

She internally groaned. "Right." Because magic didn't go to Muggleborns or anything or create squibs. It only went to those who bred it.

It didn't matter. Winning an argument against Ron didn't win her anything but frustration at how traditional he'd become.

"Hey, Harry. Ginny can still get the kids after school, right?" She tried not to let her frustration show, but it was difficult to bite back.

He looked up with confusion. "Yeah, I think so. I mean, she said so." He paused for a minute then continued, "Got lots of work to do?"

She pushed her lips together and nodded. "It really piled up this week. I hope I can get it done before the Madi and Cass go to bed. You know how he hates to go bed without me there."

"I can stop by." Harry shrugged. "Help Gin out if he gives her a rough time. You know he loves his Uncle Harry."

"Much more than his Uncle Ron, apparently."

Ron scowled. "It just went off. I didn't even mean it to scare him so much. Just a little instant darkness powder. It didn't hurt him any."

"You did give him nightmares for weeks," Harry added guiltily.

"By accident!" His arms shot in the arm, muffin crumbs sprayed through the room. Hermione grimaced at the mess of brown overtop her charcoal carpet. It'd have to be cleaned up before any of her daily meetings, which happened to start nearly as soon as the actual work day started.

One of whom was important.

She glanced up at the clock, biting her lip. "What time is late in your department?"

"Not for another five minutes. Why?"

The red heads attention snapped to. He noticed Hermione's gaze. It awakened suspicion.

"Not expecting somebody, are you Mione?" He offered up a smile.

This captured Harry's attention suddenly, rather violently. His own neck cracked as he turned to face her.

"You've finally gotten yourself a boyfriend?"

Her brow wrinkled. "Oh honestly. You two. And don't sound so surprised. If I had time, I'd have a boyfriend. Of course, he'd have to be practically on call because my hours are unreliable, at best."

The boys snickered. "How long has it been?"

A bright red blush coursed into her cheeks.

"Good Godric, you boys." She hid her face from their childish smirks. "We've discussed personal limits but apparently we need a refresher course."

She swallowed gently, overcame the mortifying experience with her two boy friends, and pushed further. "I happen to have a meeting with someone absolutely important."

"Oh so he's 'absolutely important' you say," Ron mocked in a high-pitched accent. "Pray, when will Prince Harry arrive?"

Harry chuckled, only encouraged by his friend's indignation. He prodded on with fake British accents only fit in horrid American plays whilst imprinting shame upon their friend's face as time passed in their taunts and boisterous interpretations of crude situations.

One depicted Hermione in a suggestive manner with the Queen of England by her side. It was close enough to the edge of sanity that she nearly banished them out of her office.

Their time up, the two headed down the hallway toward their own offices on another floor, far away from her earshot and eagerness to scold like children. It hadn't changed when she had her own children, as they hoped it would.

Of course, the announcement of her children and their ages shocked them both into the next week.

Shouldn't have been, she thought. Harry and Ron were easily her children first and required much more supervision than her own two _actual _children.

"Scourgify."

The crumbs banished off her floor, a sharp shade of grey once more. Tan hardly matched the décor of her office or the pristine condition of every trinket, shelf and file held within. Hermione kept her office tidied in a constant state of sameness. Nothing out of place. Everything always the same.

Pictures of her kids were hidden in a drawer locked by her magical signature, protected inside a charmed envelope. Their drawings, report cards, notes were safely tucked inside, so that if a snooping reporter happened to find her office unlocked. There was no way that their privacy would be compromised because of the Ministry's incompetence.

She was actually resentful that she was required to pursue a job within the Ministry as a member of the Golden Trio. It was the only expectation of her that she followed. Where in the world could she go? The Ministry needed her. Society needed her. But at the moment she was pulled apart.

Pulled between what she wanted and what she had to do to keep afloat.

It would only be a few more years of peace before the press discovered her secret. Secret meaning dark and powerful, twisted and life altering.

Life shattering for one.

She resented that fact. It was a burden she bared alone, with two very small children without a father, and yet it was him that would be changed when papers flashed the headlines ten feet high for all to see. He was sure to see. It was too much for his realm of control.

Perhaps it was true and he didn't care about her as he led her to believe. Years of silence was not exactly his style, except for his anger.

"Good morning, Miss Granger."

A preppy young assistant walked into her office, hair clipped back in a tight bun for her black locks that normally touched the small of her back, four-inch heels underfoot so that when she walked against carpet the boards vibrated her presence, and a large clipboard in hand. She was plain looking in the face, not that Hermione cared. The girl was the most organized assistant. The very best.

"I have all the notes needed for the meetings today, your first appointment will be here in about ten minutes and you have an urgent request from a Healer at St. Mungos."

Concise and to the point. Hermione would be giving an outstanding reference if her assistant moved on. Witches needed to be more like that. A strong, collected force in the work place and world.

Hermione glanced over her own schedule at her desk. "I do not have an appointment with any Healers. Did they say what it was regarding?"

"Sorry, Miss Granger. No, they didn't." An apologetic look crossed her face. "However, they did leave a message for you to head over to their clinics in your next available time slot. It is something best discussed in person, or so they said. Should I contact them and request more information?"

Hermione forced thoughts back and forth. She was incredibly busy today. The only available time slot was during her lunch break, but it was stated to be urgent.

"That won't be necessary. Thank you, Alizon. I'll Floo over during lunch to meet with them," Hermione stated, rubbing her temples tightly. The stress of the day ahead already pushed tightly against her mind. "Notify them of my plans, would you?"

The assistant dipped her head. "Yes, miss. I shall do that. Is that all you require before your first meeting?"

"That will be all. Leave the notes, though. I'll review them before my meetings."

A large stack was placed in her open palm. It pushed her knuckles down to her desk in a heavy slap. She winced as she pulled red fingers out from under the fresh parchment.

Meetings with alphas of werewolf clans happened this afternoon. It was a new project Hermione agreed to take on. House Elf rights were already established within her second year at the Ministry, thanks to her pestering work ethic that haunted many of the elder wizards left in the Ministry. They hadn't the energy to fight her. They pushed her legislation into law, hoping to satisfy her need, but only to find out that it was hardly the end of it.

Centaurs and werewolves were next on the agenda. She'd been researching all she could, all she was able to accomplish on the good sides of the clans to learn about their lives. All legislation had to comply and encompass the long-standing rituals of the creatures so that they weren't prosecuted for any ancient requirements of their kind.

It was a difficult process. Patience was an essential virtue. Ministry intervention was never seen as a good thing, even by the creatures, and Hermione's bleeding heart for their suffering wasn't exactly welcome. They wanted secrecy. They wanted to be left alone. Finally, it came to reason and polite debate over the benefits of rights imbedded in law.

A secluded pack of werewolves had just agreed to meet her for a discussion. No promises were made. She tried not to hold any hopes over the meeting either. But there was a subtle excitement over progress with her project.

So far, she'd only researched and interviewed a few werewolves for their opinions on rights. Legal writing hadn't even been outlined yet. But, she knew that it had to come soon. Research only lasted so long before action was required.

She scanned through lines and lines of notes regarding the new clan of werewolves with complete memorization of the information that she hadn't heard the office door click open. It wasn't until she felt a pair of intense eyes on her cheek that the hairs on the back of her hair stood on end.

Someone was there.

She glanced up and was met with a pair of slanted dark eyes that she recognized immediately.

"Don't you get tired of sneaking up on people?" She asked, hand over her rapidly thumping heart.

The face twisted into a cruel smirk. "Not when I get to see them react like that."

Hermione rolled her eyes as she stood from her desk. Her arms opened toward the wizard and he entered them without hesitation that would have been a surprising act at the start of their friendship years earlier during their time at Hogwarts but now it was second nature for the Gryffindor to collect him in her arms just the same as she did for Harry or Ron.

"Long time, no see, stranger," she said with a soft smile, releasing his custom-tailored suit from her grasp. The blue strands caressed her fingers gently. "How has Italy been treating you?"

The wizard brushed down the length of his suit coat, unbutton the single button at his chest, and settled in the chair that Ron has claimed not ten minutes ago with his stack of muffin crumbs. If she mentioned it, it'd be met with a curled scowl.

Blaise placed his arms on the rests. "Filled with beautiful women and sunny beaches. The complete opposite of England. That's why you should come."

"As tempting as that sounds…" she trailed off for the sake of her point.

Beautiful women were not her style, no matter how much she longed for sandy beaches drenched in warm light.

"Can't keep yourself in the place forever," he said in a low tone. His meaning, clear as well.

She casted him a tense glare. He was so unaffected by her temper that he ignored it completely.

"It'll be less suspicious if you move now, not when Madi turns eleven and is expected to attend Hogwarts," Blaise added with a sigh. "How long do you think you can hide them then?"

A quill tip snapped under her finger. "Is this why you scheduled a meeting? One that doesn't concern a magical creature of any kind?"

"One of the only ways to have a discussion with you anymore. You're always here or out traveling. The Ministry is the only one that requires you to remain in one place long enough for me to get close so we can have this bloody conversation," he replied.

He sat so still in his seat, without a fidget or adjustment for comfort. His dark eyes stared directly at her, the intensity so palpable that it was so very clear why he was a Slytherin and dedicated friend to…_him_.

An audible groan withheld, she opened up her desk and grabbed hold of another quill. "It is a waste of resources to schedule appointments that are unrelated to Ministry business. You could have called."

"You're stalling. You know I'm right and you'd rather deny the reality of the situation."

"Don't be ridiculous," she hissed.

His eyebrows quirked. "I'm only trying to help. You know the position I'm in. How close I am to the reality. I'm doing what I can to protect you. If you haven't read the papers…"

Hurt shot through her heart.

"I don't want to hear about his life!" She exclaimed suddenly.

Their eyes met, neither surprised with each other's reaction, or lack thereof. It was an understanding between the pair not to mention things they didn't have to. That was one thing they didn't have to discuss.

Hermione charmed all her newspapers to exclude reports of Draco Malfoy and his life. She stole glances in shop windows as she passed, but that was it. Those windows were hard enough to rip herself away from; such feelings had no space in her home where she could obsess.

Still, she knew not much was reported on him. All her papers showed a black space where his name was mentioned, and there were very few blank spaces in her news.

"Just, consider it," Blaise said softly. "Please."

Looks like happily ever after was ending sooner than she thought.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Ron groaned when he stepped out of the Floo and into a St. Mungos waiting room.

"What are we doing here? I thought you said lunch." He snarled like a rabid dog.

Hermione had made plans with Ron for lunch and felt awful about cancelling last minute. So, she dragged him along with the promise of food while kindly forgetting that they had to make a stop somewhere else beforehand.

Of course, she knew he'd become beet red with frustration. Which he was.

She threw a packet of crisps at him. "It won't take long."

"You could have just met me somewhere," he grumbled.

His hand shoved into the shiny plastic and grabbed hold of several crunchy crisps. Crumbs all coated his fingers.

"You'd have ate before I arrived, Ronald, and you know it." Hermione wound through the waiting room patrons until she came nearer the receptionist station. "Just be patient. We'll be there in a wink."

The crisp white of St. Mungos extended toward the waiting lobby, the receptionist desk and everything inside, even art of the walls was incredibly monochromatic. Perhaps they thought it sterile. All it did was highlight the lack of personal touches. Hermione swallowed a shiver as she approached the elderly witch behind the desk.

"Hi. I'm Hermione Granger. I received a message that I was needed here urgently by a Healer," she recited through a thoroughly memorized Ministry approved interaction packet given on the first day. "May I ask what I am needed for?"

The receptionists mouth turned to an 'O' before she wobbled to her knees.

"This way, Miss Granger. We've been waiting." There was no hint of irritation despite the clear pain of the woman's gait as she led Hermione and Ron down a narrow white hallway.

So many awful memories stained these walls for Hermione. She guessed for Ron, too. His father was hospitalized after the Nagini attack fifth year. Her heart forced her hand backward to touch his shoulder, but he was too absorbed in his crisps to notice the gesture.

She sighed. At least he wasn't so affected by bad memories as he was by his hunger.

Many white walls and plain doors later, the elderly receptionist tucked a strand of long grey frizz behind her ear and pointed toward a black doorway. It was the only one in the hallway with a different hue.

Hermione's heart sank as she pondered what could be behind the door. She hadn't released information on the werewolves yet. The public wasn't aware of her push for legislation. But a guess wouldn't stray too far. They were a highly discriminated group of creatures, just as much as elves were.

Her voice quivered as she reached for the handle. "Right. Let's see what we have here."

The slumped shoulders of her best friend tensed ever so slight in the corner of her eye. The bag of crisps was banished from his hands. An alert gaze took hold of his eyes as he stepped nearer, the smell of salt and vinegar on his breath.

The knob twisted in hand and opened into a pleasantly personal room with grass-green wallpaper, plush chairs across from noticeable smaller chairs fit for an infant. The floor was of warm wood ship lapped throughout the room, which was larger than a normal examination room.

Lump thoroughly swallowed, Hermione stepped inside and allowed Ronald to follow.

Suddenly a bouncing blonde-headed witch appeared before them with a gleaming smile.

"Hermione! Ron! Come in, come in," the witch greeted.

Her white robes gave way to her identification as a Healer, but her face rung deeper inside the pair.

"Goodness, Hannah. You gave me a scare," Hermione exhaled sharply. "Could've just owl'd me yourself and I'd come straight over."

Hannah Abbott, now Longbottom, shrugged her shoulders and motioned for them to sit.

"Ello, Hannah." Ron greeted cheerily, concerned suddenly dropped.

"Hello Ron. How's Padma and little Ajay doing?" Her blonde hair dangled down in limp strands at her chest. "I've been meaning to stop by, but you know how work is. Barely see Neville the way it is."

Ron pushed out a polite smile. "Been alright. Ajay is a spry one. Keeps Padma up all night and sleeping all day, little bugger. He's gettin' turned round though."

Healer Longbottom was polite and kind, commenting on a babies ability to confuse their nights and days with hopeful thoughts it'd turn around soon before Padma got messed up, too. Ron thanked her for the advice and promised to tell Padma about the well wishes.

Hermione sat quietly as they conversed, slightly ashamed she couldn't share in the parenting conversation. Her children were seen by Muggle doctors and hidden from the magical community in London since it was overrun with old acquaintances.

Her legs crossed at the knee, she listened closely and awaited for the conversation to return to the task at hand which thankfully wasn't too long, since Ron's stomach growled like a banshee and Hannah was reminded of the time.

"Well, I'm sorry we couldn't find a better time over lunch. Bet you're both famished," Hannah said.

"That we are," Ron added.

Hermione rolled her eyes at him. "Don't bother yourself, Hannah. Just tell me what seems to be the issue."

That was where the confident air of Hannah dropped and a look of worry overtook her features.

The Hufflepuff was known for her strength. Not prone to such visible reactions toward much of anything, apart from when her mother was murdered. That had been right at the start of the war. Hannah had disappeared from Hogwarts then.

"I've encountered something with a House Elf that I'm unfamiliar with. There seems to be a mysterious illness affecting their kind, origin unknown and transmission also unknown," the Healer relayed from her parchment. "They were sent to me because of personality and mood changes, but other symptoms manifested quickly after arrival. Magic disruptions. Immense pain. Boiling fever followed by apparent hypothermia."

Hermione slid to the edge of her seat. "That doesn't sound like any illness I've heard of."

Hannah nodded. "Elves are immune to most everything witches and wizards contract. I've contacted many Healers regarding the treatment, and there seem to be no answers to be found. Historical or otherwise."

"Sounds serious," Ron commented.

His interruption was unwelcome, but Hermione made no snip toward him. What she needed was to think. There had been so much literature she'd read regarding elves, yet nothing leapt to mind.

"Have you ever heard of something like this?" Hannah asked, hand laid upon Hermione's arm.

It felt burned into her flesh. An answer she didn't know. The known expert on house elves stumped by an illness.

Merlin, it was humiliating.

"I've not read or even been told of something like this before," she admitted quietly. "Are you sure no other Healers have any answers?"

The sad witch shook her head. "I owl'd everyone within this country, it seems. There is nothing to explain it."

"Have you asked the other elves?" Hermione questioned quickly. "The elves are bound to know what's affecting them. Their knowledge extends so much farther than our own abilities."

"None of the elves with whom I've contacted have any idea to what it is," Hannah answered. "Truthfully, they were very concerned. None wanted to stay longer than a few minutes once I asked."

Her friend's stomached grumbled loudly through the silence of the treatment room, yet again, a blaring reminder that he required input every other minute or else death was imminent.

She turned in her seat. "Ron, you'll have to go on to lunch without me."

He didn't ask questions; he knew very well where she was going. He kissed her cheek goodbye and exited without another word.

Not that he'd delay when lunch was involved.

"What precautions have been taken?"

Thoughts of containment policy rambled through Hermione's mind, though not as fast since it wasn't her department. She doubted any department had measures in place for something like this. It was, unheard of.

Like flipping the switch, Hannah turned into a Healer entirely. "Containment and quarantine until we understand the transmission and treatment. If a source is found, we might be able to loosen the guidelines, but it appears that the entire elf population is at risk. We can't risk contamination into other populations."

"Right." Thoughts zipped through Hermione's mind at record speed. "Notifications should be sent to all employers and Healers regarding the illness. Any possible cases should be removed and examined fully."

Healer Longbottom bobbed her head in agreement. "I can handle notification of other Healers. I'd hoped that your contacts with the elven world might expedient notification and possible uncovering of the source."

Right. She was the House Elf activist in the Magical community. Clearly a first choice for anyone.

"I'll spread the word," Hermione answered stiffly.

There was so much work for her to do, not on her agenda. Hermione apparated back to the Ministry straight to her office to finish up her entire lunch hour stuffed in letters to every elf and employer she could think of including Headmistress McGonagall.

Hogwarts was staffed with many house elves. If transmission broke through the grounds, Hermione wondered what the spread would do to the output of the school. Students were at possible risk, since it was unclear if the magical were able to contract the illness themselves.

A quick decontamination spell settled Hermione's nerves slightly. The last thing she needed was to expose her young children to an unknown virus.

Now that she thought of it, until it was discovered, she'd possibly be exposed to it more than once. Possibly contract it, if she unknowingly infected herself by close contact or encountering the source of it.

Her mind quickly unraveled.

Oh, Merlin. If her children were to fall sick with a magical illness, she'd have to bring them to London. The quarantine would require it.

Word would spread. Paparazzi would find their way in, as they always were able when stakes were high enough. What would stop them from printing her children on the front page?

Her knees wobbled as she pictured the reaction of their father, whom was most certain to read the papers.

"Alizon," she beckoned with all her might. It was difficult not to break into a fit of panicked sobs on the floor of her office as she thought of her life crashing down around her.

Her assistant walked inside the office the next moment. Her pace stalled as she beheld her boss as she clutched the back of her office chair with all her energy.

"Is something wrong?" Alizon reached out to assist but was waved away.

"No." Hermione huffed out in deep breaths. "Just get me Blaise Zabini. Tell him I need him immediately."

Two dense eyebrows pushed together in an almost unibrow of lush black hairs. "Has something happened?"

One swallow. Then two.

"Please, Alizon. Just do as I ask."

Blaise appeared not ten minutes after her sent request, clearly unhinged by the need.

"What's happened?" He asked as soon as he stepped through the office doors and into the privacy wards always in place. "Is something wrong with Cass? Madi. Is Madi alright?"

Blaise was the only wizard she'd trust with them. Entirely.

"I need you to take them."

"Them?"

She lowered her voice and eyed the door. "The kids. I need you to take them."

His suspicions surfaced soon after. His own wand casted layer after layer of silencing charms and privacy wards to ensure total protection. His paranoid edge always encompassed the Ministry and their endless spies. It was the war that did that to him.

Now, the Ministry was a centralized place he did not trust. It was the partial reason why he'd moved to Italy in the first place. Their magical government was surprisingly lax on information gathering and collecting.

Blaise tested the barrier twice before he was satisfied with its hold.

He turned back around, a very settled look on his face. "What is it? Is it threats? Have they been compromised? You know, I've been telling you to come to Italy for this very reason. How'd you receive the threat? I can trace it if it's still fresh."

Always the controlled Slytherin, Blaise showed a concerning amount of worry on his dark features. Hermione almost felt aghast at the emotion.

But it turned to honor when she remembered that it was her children that he was concerned for. Her children close to his heart, in loyalty to her and his own friend with whom he knew would rest easier knowing a Slytherin was in their lives.

As silly as it was, she appreciated his care for her children out of his deep loyalty. She would've told him how much he resembled a Hufflepuff, but a hex wasn't on her schedule.

"They've not been threatened, but they could be compromised," she breathed.

"Has someone found out?"

She shook her head. "No. But I've just come into contact with an undiagnosed illness affecting house elves in severe magical ways. Nothing is known about it. Including whether it can infect children or witches. But I'd rather not take the chance. Wouldn't you agree?"

"Undoubtedly."

"So, you'll take them to Italy?" Relief felt a wave across her tension. Her body suddenly felt loads lighter.

The wizard nodded. "They're always welcome. Not that you ever take advantage of the fact for longer than a nice hour."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "I know for a fact that Madi Floo calls you every night before she goes to bed."

Blaise was hardly moved by the accusation, a clear sign of his guilt. If it was a lie, he'd be offended. Or offer more reaction than nothing.

When it was clear that there was no response coming from him, she growled and slid into her seat with a new quill in hand. She quickly scratched a note to Ginny at the change of plans.

She glanced up from the parchment. "When will you be able to get them?"

"I'll collect them from school," he said.

"No plans for the day?" She smirked, before she added onto the note.

Once she signed her name, she waved her wand and the parchment came alive, folding into a small airplane and shot out the door to the Ministry owlery. Still hours to go until she was needed, Ginny surely was at Grimmauld Place.

Ginny and Blaise were the only two people who knew of her children's father. She trusted them resolutely with their lives, but Blaise's ability to disappear out of camera shots and fierce protection wards allowed in Italy, the children were much safer from discovery with him than Ginny.

On rare occasion, Ginny was photographed outside of Grimmauld Place with little prompting at all.

The only way that the children and her were able to visit was in a Floo connection drapes closed entirely to prying cameras.

"I can't come back until the source is revealed and my chance of infection is completely gone," Hermione announced sadly. Her eyes felt red.

More time away from her children. So much time taken. Time she will never get back either.

"You're afraid he'll punish them, aren't you?" Her friend studied her closely as she tried to hide her face under the pretense of work. "Once he discovers their identity, he'll hurt them with his rejection. That's what you're worried about?"

The incredulity in his tone flustered her.

"When have you known him to be gentle with anyone, including his own wife?"

Referring to herself as Draco Malfoy's wife felt so foreign on her tongue. It'd been ages since that had been truth.

They'd married after her announcement of Caspian's existence. Since they'd had a secret relationship from everyone, including her best friends, it was under pain of death that their marriage was performed. Unbreakable Vows in place resolutely.

A secret wife in another life. The pressure inside her heart squeezed at her windpipe painfully. She gasped like a silly school girl over a boy who denied his love to her because she chose to flee from his side.

A member of the Golden Trio married to a Death Eater. It was cursed from the beginning. A fact that she reminded herself of each day.

They were not meant to be.

"He's not like that, Hermione. Just give him that benefit of the doubt. Don't you owe him that?" Blaise gritted his teeth.

"I can't. Not when it's not only my heart he'll break this time," she answered sharply. "Because of his stupid selfish ego, he'll die without knowing his children and they'll be better for it."

It was the same ending they always found whenever he dared mention Malfoy. Her walls went straight up to the sky, and he never got through her precariously constructed defense. He gave in before she did. He knew better than to duel with a stubborn lion. Rather, he preferred the ways of a sneaking snake.

Today was not the day for it. His limit was not reached yet.

"It's your stupid, selfish ego that is killing him!" He exclaimed. "You don't know what he's been like."

"I don't care how he's been. I don't care how he's suffered. I don't care that the Malfoy line goes down in flames." She was overcome with heartbreak fury now. It'd burned so long inside her. Unanswered desire. Avoided looks. Years of silence. Not even a question of their son, the one he knew she carried in her womb. "I did the right thing. I stood up for him, at trial, and proved his innocence. I helped him escape a death sentence at Azkaban. I saved his life. All I got was a cold shoulder and a damn divorce paper by owl."

There was a stunned silence.

She rarely ever yelled at Blaise, and he was less believing he actually heard it with his own ears.

He knew the circumstances. He was friends with Malfoy, too. There was no way it wasn't mentioned. Just how cold Hermione was treated once Voldemort was defeated and the world returned normal.

There was no apology. There wasn't a grand makeup where he rushed up to her and thanked the stars she was alive. She hadn't even seen a shred of emotion cross his face when he watched Bellatrix carve an ugly word into her arm. It was just an article of pain he flipped through on his quest to preserve himself.

Hermione wasn't angry he lived. Truly, she was happy that he kept himself alive throughout the course of it all. Not all Death Eaters were so lucky. But there was a small part of her that longed for his possessive love to shine through it all. Like all he'd worked for was her.

"You remember what I was like when the papers announced his engagement to Astoria?" She asked softly.

He nodded slowly.

"I won't make it through something like that ever again," she steadied her aching voice, "and I've got Madi and Cass with no one else but me."

Blaise reached out and grabbed her wrist. "They've got me, too. Don't worry. I'll keep them safe."

"Thank you, Blaise."

It took hours for Hermione to come up for air from paperwork and meetings and a dead hollowness inside her chest. She knew what awaited her after work. Darkness. An empty house. Two bedrooms filled with her child's favorite things in neat little rows. Their perfect faces in picture frames. Long shadows over their drying artworks strung from a clothesline in the backyard.

Lonely. Silent.

The thought of it was too much like the war. Stuck in a tent in the middle of nowhere with Harry there, and Ron missing in one of his fits, and the weight of the world upon their literal shoulders like it was natural for a couple of teenagers to save the entire world from evil.

How empty she was back then. Research. Investigation. Quiet. Hiding. All she did was cry herself to sleep in pure agony at how alone she was. After months being wrapped under the protection of Draco or the soft touch of baby hair to warm her heart, it shriveled.

Every day was the possibility that her parents were dead. Murdered by Death Eaters, tracked down and tortured. The picture of her own children taken prisoner for fun ate away at the how slivers of strength she had left.

Each night she cried herself into a dreamless state, pure black. A place as hollow and hopeless as her.

An end to the war wouldn't solve all her problems. If she tracked down her family, there was no guarantee that their memories would survive through her spell.

Hermione spent days staring at book pages with the throbbing fear that her children wouldn't know who she was. Her parents wouldn't recall her matching eyes and bushy hair as their own. Madison wouldn't run up to her and try to snatch the wand at her side, as she always did. Or little Caspian, only a babe when she last held him, wouldn't recognize his own mother's voice. The woman who carried him around, hid away from her entire world just for his protection. None of it. None of her beloved would be people who saw her face and saw the woman below it.

She shrank lower and lower in her chair as time clicked by. Her unwillingness to see her home without either of children suctioned her to the moment of complete denial.

They were at home, with Ginny of course. Madi was secretly practicing her levitation magic behind Ginny's back as she wrestled Cass into a pair of pajamas he'd wake up not wearing in the morning.

One place they certainly weren't was Blaise's Italian mansion with house elves popping at every moment their wishes were voiced. Merlin, she'd have to remind them to use their manners.

Her hands paused mid-air, mid-thought.

If they were apart of their father's life, house elves and on-demand service would be their entire life. No questions. No manners. Just every single desire satiated every waking moment.

What would they be like then?

Spoiled? Contemptuous? The same?

She put the quill back beside the jet-black ink well, the moment of concern gone. Two worlds together, one always had to give in. Muggle ways often won, as it was important for them to understand the differences in the worlds since the future only held magic for them, but the magical world was too astounding to shelter them from.

Every summoned chocolate bar amazed her son. He'd sit at Ron and Padma's with a look of total obsession when ever an item appeared on demand, or the dishes levitated themselves from the sink into the cupboards, or whenever a mess was cleaned with a flick of a wand and a mutter of words.

Madi was no better either.

No, they both adored magic as the delightful gift it was. But there was more responsibility in teaching them about the other world, too. That was her duty. So that the next generation would grow enlightened and unafraid. Magic would be better for it.

Perhaps people like their parents might be able to stay together then, in the future, where blood was no more discussed than the passing of a leaf in a stream. It would fade from view around the bend, only to be regarded with indifference to its existence.

Her mind picked at that last thought. It knew better.

It felt its duty was to remind her that she did it for Draco. All the work. The exposure. The education. All of it, so that in some sick way, it felt like she did it for him. A better version of him. His family line would become diverse with culture and opinion, something she hoped he'd be proud of. In his own way.

When it came clear that she could stay no longer, Hermione Granger gathered up her things and headed home, distraught and aching once more like she'd done as a young girl lost and broken by the tides of war.

The fiery burn down the back of his throat did nothing to warm the chill in his bones. Draco Malfoy sat in an unused suite uncharted for all, except himself. A foggy glass sat ahead, obscuring the view of the expansive grounds in full bloom.

Early summer brought life back to Wiltshire. Rows of manicured lawns glowed a vibrant green, but none so matched to the Malfoy Manor on the edges of town outlined in dark hedges. Miles and miles of hedges trimmed with precision. Trees, now fully awoke from their winter slumbers, blossomed with tiny buds where leaves were to grow in a week. Pale pink petals of a Japanese Cherry already spawned near the pond.

He cared for none of the vibrancy. In fact, if he'd had his way, he would burn the entire landscape to mountains of ash and be done with it.

Draco Malfoy was in a mood, as he always was when he came back to the suite. There were memories within it's walls, realities that were so beyond his reach, it seemed to be another wizard's grief he felt.

Bottle in hand, he moved through from a sitting room toward the master bedroom where a grand canopy bed sat under a layer of thick dust. He breathed it in deeply as he walked. The smell was ever the same. Not dust nor dirt nor the passage of time. Whenever he came his nostrils filled with large gulps of lavender. Lilac. Sweet mint.

The firewhiskey fell down the back of his throat. It seized his nostrils in a sharp flare of cinnamon.

Memories stayed at bay with the smell gone.

Malfoy stood in a swarm of them, untouched by their pulling hands as more and more whiskey filled his shields.

It was a test inside the suite. He came on days when he felt his lowest to try and last against the constant onslaught of pain he felt before total blackout. Some days, it took a few minutes before the bottle was drained and so was his shield. Others took longer.

Those were good days to be alive.

This day in particular was a good one. He felt sour, but not impressionable, even as he eyed the dragon figurine upon the shelf. It once patrolled the edge back and forth with watchful eyes. The dragon was a gift. A protection spell for beloved things. In this case, books. Lots of books.

He knew their order from memory. _Bronte. Austen. Shelley. Fitzgerald. Carroll. Austen. Dumas._

Muggle classics he knew by heart. Every word etched in memory starting with the favorite then down the line. Imprints worn on the edges where he read their words over and over, a steady hum of peace to know their place in another's heart.

It was the only way he felt close.

Another long gulp from the beaded neck of liquor.

He heard a faint pop of apparition and softly cursed under his breath. No rest for the wicked.

"Master?" The little elf squeaked.

"Yes, Cady, what is it?"

It was not the time. He needed to be here. He needed to swim in delusion before his life crashed back down through. A lifetime of happiness, a memory that no one knew existed. Like it never happened. The only feeling he felt inside, gone.

"Cady did not mean to interrupt, Master Malfoy." The body bowed low, pointed nose to the floor.

Salazar. He didn't want this right now.

"Leave me," he gasped after another long drink. "I told you never to bother me when I'm in here."

"But I have news, sir. Master told Cady to notify him if anything ever came from the mistress." Her tone was bolder now. It squeaked less and felt stronger in air.

He looked down the tip of his nose. "The mistress is dead. Leave me be."

"Not mistress Astoria, Master. The first one."

Attention snapped toward the elf immediately. He'd given that instruction years ago under false hopes, and now after the death of his wife, he'd finally gotten word. A shred of news.

He flicked his open palm toward the elf. "Let's have it then."

The Ministry seal shined bright in candlelight, under the white brilliance of the chandelier. He brought it closer to his face. Parchment was fresh. As was the seal.

"What time is it?"

The elf was momentarily surprised but rebounded into normal servitude. "Nearly ten, Master."

Draco grimaced as the wax shifted under the weight of his thumb. What was she doing at the Ministry so late? Sealing her own business, no less. She was sure to have assistants. The woman worked herself to bones, as always, he remembered with a sigh.

Wasting no time, unsure he'd be able to withstand curiosity enough to retreat to his study, Draco wretched the sealed ends and opened the parchment, scanning every millimeter of the surface for any indication that the parchment was more than a mere Ministry policy requirement. It was written in her own hand. That much was clear by the slight smudge near her signature. He squinted, rubbing the stain between his fingers. It was in the space between her first and last name. A single drop dragged into the G.

She stopped. Her quill stopped moving long enough for the ink to drip down onto the page. But why before her last name? Draco hardly registered a single section of his name when he signed papers, especially at work. It was muscle memory. His hand moved without his thinking.

Confounded by Hermione Granger and the accidental stain, he raised the firewhiskey to his lips where cinnamon fumes scorched the tender insides of his nose as his thoughts whirled and whirled on.

It took him many long moments to remember the elf still witness to his actions.

"Cady, you haven't seen any of the other elves acting strangely, have you?"

The elf shook its head.

"If you do, have them report to St. Mungos immediately," he said. "Come to me if you notice anything. Do you understand?"

Her small head dipped low. "Yes, Master."

The tone was indicative of her dismissal, something he waited for like the last bit of thoughts to disappear before a much-needed sleep, but the elf lingered.

He sniffed distastefully. "Is there something else?"

"Wel- uh- y-y-yes, Master. The mistress. Does it say if she's well?"

Cady was the personal elf assigned to Draco's wife from the moment she was born, intended to serve and care for the next Lady Malfoy. The creature was magic-bound to her master's family and thus, the rightful Lady of the Manor. She'd tended to Astoria well during her pregnancies, always informed Draco of any changes in her status, but Cady preferred his first wife as her rightful master.

She was the only elf allowed to enter the uncharted suite. Though with all the work of two funerals in a manner of weeks, work around the manner surpassed her ability and the abandoned suite was forgotten.

The parchment crinkles in hand as he held onto it tighter, the only outlet he had to her now. "It does not say."

Draco paused. The thud in his chest erupted with a tidal wave of pain. It slashed at his ribs looking for escape. All that agony swallowed down over the years, all the crushing despair as he sank farther and farther down into darkness, it was close to rising once more.

But he just couldn't stop himself. "You haven't heard anything, have you? I mean, through the others?"

The answer. He wasn't entirely sure he wanted to know.

Whether she succeeded in all her hopes and dreams or was broken by all the pain he put her through, Hermione was no longer apart of his life. He had no right to know. The ex-husband, Death Eater, murderer, traitor, father of her dead child, was not the one she wanted in her life.

The pain he saw in her face as his aunt Bellatrix carved into her perfect, unspoiled flesh with all the evil in the world bayed for her blood to spill across the country, Draco watched the hope die inside. The warm cinnamon reflected back a glimmer of need toward him. She might have well screamed his name. And no matter how hard she fought, Bellatrix found a way to shatter that strength to nothing.

The Hermione who loved him died on the floor of Malfoy Manor.

"Mistress stays out of Diagon Alley, Cady hears. She dislikes the pictures." The elf wrung her hands together. "But there are rumors she now fights for wolves as she does for elves."

"Wolves?"

"Yes, sir. Wolves. Werewolves. She has been asking elves how to find the other creatures and where they're found," Cady said gently.

Draco's brows shot to his hairline. "Alone? Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"Master did not request such things," the elf reasoned.

"Well, I do now. Find out what you can. Do whatever you have to do. Just tell me everything I need to know about these werewolves she's looking for," he instructed with a pointed finger.

The 'pop' of apparition told him all that he needed as he fell back into a nearby chair, worn to bone from worry.

Thoughts of Hermione Granger swam around his head all night in wisps of sweet nothing dreams to blackened nightmares. One woke him with a start. Sweat dipped down his forehead as he gripped the arm rests, counted down to steady the racing thrum of his heart so it wouldn't explode.

Twinkling light of first dawn broke through the room. Soft light shined at the edges of his eyes, burning gently in warning for what was to come later.

He summoned a potion vial and drank it greedily. It coursed through his veins up to eyes where dawn turned to a brilliant cascade of color over a pristine estate rather than the violent burst of rays of moments before.

Alcohol dreams were the worst. Firewhiskey dredged up such awful nightmares, this night's was the worst he'd had since the war.

It took him all morning to shake off the dread, but not without the help of a forgetting potion, before he apparated to his office.

Malfoy Holdings was a silent parent company behind many underlings of companies presented to the public. The office was obscured in London in an unmarked building, ignored by Muggles and wizards alike. Only ones who knew where to look for it could find it. And him.

Draco avoided Diagon Alley and the peoples within as much as he could. It was impossible to entirely ignore their presence since he dealt with many of their supplies and ingredients for potions, salves and other magical rarities. Operating without others was a failure for a business model. He did have a living to support. So, he allowed his staff to handle any and all degree of need from public so that he might be spared the common, open-mouthed stare from any who'd stumble inside his office with the hope of ordering enchanted mole lemons or requesting an extension on profit shares.

War revealed him a Death Eater. The mark on his arm was evidence enough of his submission to the darkest force ever to emerge. Even after his noted turn and assistance of the Order, Draco was still ostracized. Once his crooning fans, now a crowd of wary distrust.

Few came close. The ones that did always turned out to be undercover reporters. Immediate lawsuits were filed to prevent publishing, which he won, but information still slipped through.

The deaths of his children in their pregnancy being one example. Word of their magical termination in utero spread through ranks, and soon enough, reporters discovered for themselves the graves, the various Healers, even snapped shots of Astoria herself ridden with grief over her child.

He did all he could to protect her privacy. All the reporters were sacked after a giant yank of funding courtesy of Malfoy Holdings. It still didn't change the shame his wife suffered under the boot of public scrutiny. She rarely ventured out of doors since the incident after that.

Failure. He was used to the foul taste. It emerged in every aspect, one way or another. After Hermione, it was the only taste on his tongue for years. Even a marriage to Astoria couldn't restore salty or sweet. He walked around with a mouthful of ash as his children died, his wife faded in mind and spirit before his very eyes, and his mother's forced indifference of their situation turned the foulness to sour bile.

Life of a cursed Malfoy.

"You summoned me, Mister Malfoy?"

His assistant, Ganon Mulrbush, walked in the large office. Ceiling to floor twenty feet wide were shelves filled with books and books. Rich cherry wood held leather bound spines all in order, alphabetic, in neatly arranged rows.

A giant hearth glowed with lively flame on the opposite wall. Artifacts of ancient witches and wizards adorned the mantle in a rather boastful display of his influence. Every passerby had to take a look at the magical objects, sure to be amazed at the condition of items centuries old and previously undiscovered. It forced a level of respect from ones who would rather stamp his bones to dust than pay him any heed at all.

The desk, where he lounged upon a chair as his throne over his company like a self-appointed dictator, was made of the largest cut of Muggle Redwood he could find. Hand crafted runes ran up the legs and below the folded molding, The expanse of the worktop extended wall past the reach of his arms, which were long in their nature, only disrupted by a few things required on a desk: inkwell, box where an ornate quill laid made from his mother's prized peacock, personally sculpted dragon statue of pure marble, a gift to the Malfoy family from Lysippus of Sicyon in the late classical period of Ancient Greece.

Draco observed his young assistant with a calculated gaze. His features pulled taut, unforgiving to his buried emotion. He was as he always was to everyone. A harsh, successful, self-serving Slytherin.

"I need a summary of last week," Draco said, tone dead and sharp. "All managers must report to me by end of day to report their status, as well as all suppliers need updated logs. We were given an unusually large request for Aconite. Our foragers must be notified of their new quota immediately."

The assistant jotted down the list with no reply. He gave no look of addition, so Draco paused for none.

"There was a misbrew in Lab 3. All potioneers have been sent home until an investigation can be complete." Draco waved his wand over the pages, flipping onto the next page of memos to be sent throughout his ranks. "The investigators are to report directly to me once they have concluded. A hazard team will have to scan through and repair the lab before any may enter."

Ganon cleared his throat and captured his boss' attention. "Only one injury claim has been filed from incident with standard expectation from destabilization of potion. However, another injury claim was filed, not in the production labs, but the experimental labs."

"What kind of injury?"

A flush of anger ran up through his spine. He hadn't been notified of any incidents in the experimental department. All reports were given top priority to his office.

His wand tried to Accio the report of incident, but none flew to his grasp.

"There was no incident report filed because there was no incident," Ganon explained. "All the injury claim stated was an experimenter was given a stable already approved potion and many hours later reported bursts of zapped magic in forms of electricity. They caused a whole blackout in their building."

A snarl barked at the back of his throat. "Was the situation reported to the Ministry?"

Once again, the assistant looked down at the page in front of his face and scanned a moment.

"Wasn't required. No Muggles were witness. Electricity was turned on without magical intervention. It says here that said potion was the only uncommon denominator in said injury. Woman reported with burns and slices to her magic in three toes, one forearm, and half of her neck."

"Pick her up immediately. Have her sent to our on-staff Healer for review. I'll present myself for the debrief." He rubbed his temples. "From now on, things like this must be reported to me first thing. Bring me that supervisor who filed the report and prepare his departure interview."

There was only a slight pause in Ganon's scratchy writing, but it was written as direct order. Every employee knew better than to disobey such a direct line from the owner, operator and funder of their company. Jobs were limited, and workers were aplenty. None were irreplaceable.

"Is that all?" Draco quirked his brow in invitation for more news to be dealt with.

The assistant nodded with a sharp gulp. "We have received four reports from shops in our supply that all of their Wolfsbane potions have been ordered by a single wizard."

That was something interesting. Werewolves. Just like Hermione pursued.

"What wizard?"

Ganon shrugged. "None reported a name nor description except for, 'he had an American accent'. It was determined to purchase all potions available above listed cost. There was no explanation given to the reason behind the high need, and when asked, none was given."

Wolfsbane potion was used by werewolves during a full moon so their mind remained whilst transformed into their wolven appearance. What would an American want with so many doses?

"How many in all?"

"Nearly fifty vials were sold to the American," Ganon replied.

Fifty. That was nearly the entirely population of the werewolves in England. Four years of doses for a single werewolf.

Either way, the request far exceeded need.

It explained the upped requirement of Actonite, the main ingredient in the Wolfsbane potion. But. A single man? American, nonetheless. Necessity was far surpassed by his request meaning there was some external factor. A reason that the potion was needed, and not for the local werewolf population.

Draco dismissed his assistant to ponder the predicament more closely. He leaned back in his chair, hidden from the wall of pure sunlight behind his back in window in place of a wall. All of London under his thumb.

The Muggle market sought highly after magical herbs and rarities just as much as the wizarding world did. They craved their medicinal properties in lieu of medical experts. Doctors, they were called. He had no knowledge of the breed except what he remembered from his days with Granger, and she always spoke so highly of doctors and their abilities. What would they want capsules filled with herbs for?

Ah. It wasn't his job to wonder why. As long as money raked forth from his adventurous business endeavors that ended up with multiple locations all around the city, Draco drew no line of thought to their purpose. He had something Muggles wanted. Money checked out. That's all he needed.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Whilst the investigation into the unknown elf illness was still being conducted, Hermione had no choice but to focus her efforts onto her next population of discriminated creatures: the werewolves.

She met with an alpha of a withdrawn pack with only seven in number. They were very frightful of her presence. Every motion she made was instantly responded to by the young members, and only noticed by the more distinguished. Still, she spoke at length with the alpha toward their seclusion from the magical world. Pages upon pages of notes were gone through in the course of their meeting.

Their requests for equality were not unlike the other packs she'd visited. But this one was very set on it.

Evander was the alpha of the pack. He was infected with the virus as a young man, only twelve. Though it was difficult to tell through the dense coat of fur grown up around the edges of his face and neck, the man only looked to be about forty. That guess was misleading, in fact, too, because werewolves aged slower than normal wizards. It was possible that he was much older. Knowing his hesitation toward personal questions of those in the pack, Hermione refrained from quenching her curiosity.

Under Evander was another. Etaine. She was considerably more spry. And aggressive.

She bared her large teeth every time Hermione asked a question, particularly ones that alluded to their ideal wishes for equality.

"We aren't animals. We want the same treatment as wizards like you get to walk around with," Etaine snarled sharply. "Least the Dark Lord offered that."

Hermione sat, flustered and bright red, silent.

"Voldemort," the alpha remarked, "knew just what to offer those low and angry enough to rise. His promises were empty as were the lines he drew through. We were all used by his hand."

Suddenly Evander turned on Etaine with a dead-cold stare. "Leave if you must be so undignified. You embarrass yourself."

The rest of the meeting passed without tension, but Evander was more than willing to speak, but he was entirely guided of intimate details of his pack and Hermione knew better than to ask. Relations were vital. She had to maintain their trust if she wished to accomplish something, gain their support for her initiative.

She had marched back to her Muggle car she'd rented for the journey to the highlands of Scotland when Evander touched her shoulder ever so gently. Her lips released a gasp of surprise. A blush followed.

The werewolf was once a wizard, not too unlike her, flesh and blood touched with magic. Until the disease. Now, he was bound to strike fright into young children as he walked down the street, avoided looks as he bought groceries, an entire life of being treated as an animal. She'd done just the thing she hated: reminded him of his difference.

Evander pulled his hand away, eyes lowered.

Hermione cleared her throat, mortified beyond repair. "Sir?"

The alpha straightened. "Miss Granger, I fear for you."

"For me?"

Evander nodded. "There is talk amongst others that there is a man out there, doing just as you are, but with other intentions in mind. I have not seen him, but intentions seem not unlike others we're heard before."

"Like Voldemort?" Hermione's forehead wrinkled. She'd not heard of evil plots from other packs she spoke to.

Trust, though, was in short supply. She brushed it away.

"Promises too ideal to be true," Evander explained. "A utopia for our kind, away from the world."

Oh.

The realization of whom he spoke was an acquaintance of hers. Idealist. Perhaps a bit mad, himself.

Hermione fell silent as Evander stood tall and stoic.

"Be careful, Hermione Granger. My instinct tells me to be wary in these times," he said.

She hated being wary. She spent years during the war being wary and paranoid, frightened with terror at every waking moment.

Still, the war was over now. Things were changing for the better. She was seeing to that.

"That man you speak of is not an evil mastermind," she sighed. The car door screeched as she yanked open the door with a frown. The ministry could have at least provided a worthy car not prone to overheating and rust. "He's just a little lost in the waves, as we all are."

Evander dipped his head low in a bow, stepped away as the engine rumbled to life and remained perched in place as she drove down a rough country road, bouncing with every bump and near smacking her head against the roof.

She took her time to return to the Ministry. It was a beautiful day.

Sun filtered through long grasses of Scotland as she drove. Little creatures scurried across the road. Birds, and small chipmunks with mouths full of bits of grain. In her patience, she stopped the car for a passing family of water fowl and their offspring in a neat row behind.

A nearby pond welcomed the small goslings with gentle ripples. The mother honked at her children, willing them forward as she paddled through the murky waters.

Hermione felt much the same as that Mother Goose. Keeping her brood in line whilst she tried to paved a path of safety for them to follow. It wasn't easy alone.

Of course, she wasn't entirely alone. Ginny, and Blaise and Ron and Harry all helped tremendously. But it wasn't the same as having a partner. Another parent would help loads. Just to be there alongside her to watch them grow, and love them like she did.

Not to say that her children weren't loved. Blaise cared for her kids with a strong intensity. He never failed them when they depended on him, either. Never cancelled. Never claimed he was busy. Always, he made time for her children when they needed.

Ron, too. He wasn't as good with them as Blaise. Truly, it was hard to sever their bond with Blaise for Ron. Ron had a family of his own. His own child to care for. But, he never shied away from Hermione or her children. He invited them along for any family gathering, holiday or dinner party they hosted. Christmas, Cass and Madi got their own presents from Ron and Padma that were special and cherished.

However, it just wasn't the same. They reached out for Blaise first, and it hurt Ron deeply.

Ron and Hermione grew incredibly close during the war. He saved her life more times than she could count. Losing him from their Horcrux hunt damaged her more than she cared to remember. It was like losing Draco, her parents, and her beautiful children all over again. She'd lost another person she loved along the way, and it cut away at her stronger than any spell.

Harry had been gone for a while. Lost in his own world, daze, with Voldemort in his head. She hadn't minded. The world rested upon Harry's shoulders heavily. The weight of good. He had his own problems. But Ron? Ron was her best friend. He always made her laugh, even if it was something entirely stupid and nonsensical. His way to look at things so differently and simply than her truly helped distract her from her own problems for a time.

She needed that during their year away.

She wasn't sure she'd ever recover after his loss. But then he came back. He saved Harry and her, too.

After that, he was the thing she held onto the most because if she lost Ron, she lost all hope for everything remaining after the war. And if there was nothing left at the end of it all, what was the point?

Hermione sighed as she pulled away from the pond, the car rattling like it was an earthquake. She was happy to be rid of it and apparate back to the Ministry.

"Alizon," she beckoned the moment she stepped back onto her carpeted office floor.

Her assistant entered promptly, tea in hand. She pushed the plastic cup forward. "Yes, Miss Granger?"

"Get me Adrian Farrington," Hermione said. "Tell him that it is urgent."

The sweet wafting aroma of the tea rumbled a sudden growl from her stomach. She'd not eaten when she was out. Time showed nearly three in the afternoon.

Hermione took the tea from Alizon's hand, hoping it'd satisfy her stomach for a while.

"Right now," the assistant looked down at her schedule, "you have a Floo call with Blaise Zabini."

The cup nearly dropped from her hand.

Blaise? Oh, no. Something was wrong.

She rushed to the Floo, allowing her assistant to let herself out, and started the flames and waited for Blaise to connect.

Sweat poured from her hands. Emergencies rushed through her mind. Broken arm? Poked out eye? She recited the spells from memory in hopes that it'd save time.

Merlin, she hoped Madi and Cass were okay. The thought of harm befalling them while she was caught up at work. Wetness flooded to her eyes as she felt a sweeping wave of failure.

She was a horrible mother. A workaholic. A champion fighter for the underdog. The only thing she wasn't was dedicated to her children one hundred percent.

"Hello?" Blaise answered the Floo.

"What's wrong?" Hermione shouted, unable to contain her worry any longer.

The salty taste of a tear wet her lips.

Blaise leaned forward in the call, eyes scanning her face. "What's wrong with you?"

"Are Madi and Cass alive?"

He snorted. "Of course they are. Bloody Salazar, Granger. They're fine."

"Oh, thank Merlin." She clutched her chest to calm her racing heart. "I thought something happened."

Her friend shrugged. "Why?"

"I don't recall us planning a Floo call," she murmured, brushing her tears away. "I just came back and Alizon said we had a call. Seemed urgent."

"It wasn't," Blaise answered. "Well, not really. The kids just wanted to talk to you, so we just waited until you got back to your office."

Suddenly a head of brown curly hair popped into view.

Her heart erupted with so much relief and relief. She missed them so much.

"Hello, darling. How are you, Cass? It's Mummy." She watched her son's face light up with glee as he recognized her voice. He smiled at the face in the flame, arms outstretched with his need to be close.

He was clingy in his ways. Hermione felt it was her absence after his birth that fueled his need to be close in case she tried to leave him again.

Tears came to her eyes once more as her son watched her as if he waited for her.

"Uncle Blaise promised to take me to the beach," Madison announced loudly, suddenly in frame too. "I'm going to surf."

Hermione let out a strangled noise of surprise. "Surf?"

Her daughter nodded proudly, chin jutted out and a sparkle of fire in her eye. "He found someone to teach me. I'm going to be surfing better than all the other girls there. Boys, too. I'll be the best."

There wasn't a doubt in Hermione's mind that it was truth.

"You be careful and listen to your teacher," she instructed. Her tone sounded forced from the deep hint of sadness. "Don't use your magic in public, Madi. I mean it. It's important not to."

The girl whipped around. Her eyes glared at Blaise, who simply stuck out his tongue. "Told you."

"Why can't I ever use my magic?" She whined. "It's not fair."

"Madison, you know why. It's very important to keep them hidden from everybody." She felt sorry for her daughter. So gifted in terms of magic yet bound to the life of a Muggle, out of the magic eye. It was a curse to have magic and not use it.

"Why do I have to hide who I am? Why can't I show how much I can do?"

Blaise shot a look of pure guilt over to Hermione, one she didn't miss.

He tried and tried to get Hermione to come clean about their existence. It was a sense of some tension, since he knew Malfoy closely as a friend still, and was denied from telling her anything about Malfoy's life since they divorced. Not that he didn't try.

More than anything, Blaise wanted the children to be given the community of wizards that they all lived in. It was a gift. It was another world, meant for Madi and Cass. Hermione denied them entrance thus crippling them from their given right in the world.

But the idea of Malfoy discovering them turned her ten shades of blue. She didn't know what he'd do. Would he try to take them away from her? Would he completely smear their existence? He'd break their tiny little hearts in the process. She just knew it.

Hermione held her tongue.

"How about Blaise lets you do some tricks in the mansion, eh? He can teach you some good ones," she said with a small smile. It had to appease her daughter. It just had to. "I bet you'll be able to conjure up apparitions by the time you come home."

Madison erupted with a wide smile. "You think so?"

A noise in her office jerked Hermione's attention away. It was Ron, and he looked distraught.

"Look, darling, I've got to go now. Work. But I'm trying to get you home, I promise it won't be much longer," she explained.

Oh how she hated the distance between them.

"Alright, Mum. I'll practice really hard." Madison approached the Floo closer, eyes focused on her mother's face. "I miss you, Mummy," she added softly.

"I miss you too, sweet girl." She turned and waved at her son, "Bye, Cass. Be a good boy. I love you guys."

A bemused look rose in Blaise's face. "Love you, too, Granger."

She chuckled and shook her head. "Bye, Blaise."

Her knees ached from the position was in for so long. Ron offered out an arm, helped her to her feet again. He was oddly silent.

Something her gut said was wrong.

"Ronald, is something wrong?"

He shook his head. "Come on, Mione. Come sit down. We have to talk about something."

The tension was clear through his shoulders. It was off.

She sat down at her desk. The sweating in her palms was becoming gruesome on Niagara proportions.

"Talk. We can talk," she exhaled softly. "What about?"

"Hermione, I know I asked you a long time ago about who was the father of Madi and Cass." He sensed her discomfort and cleared his throat. "You didn't like it, so I didn't push it. I didn't want to push you away. At the time it didn't seem the matter. He wasn't there then, was he? But I've gotta know now, Mione. Who is he?"

"I can't tell you that," she said softly. "You know that."

Harry had begged to know who he was, where she went during the year she missed at Hogwarts. It was so hard for him to understand why she ran. Ron, though. He kept quiet. His mouth kept shut with his obvious curiosity. In part, she worried that he already had his own guess to who the father was.

Only so many wizards were lean and tall with platinum blonde hair and grey eyes.

Ron was her best friend. She should be able to tell him the truth.

The files in his hand fluttered as he tapped them nervously against his chair. She eyed them. Auror files. Always deeply classified information regarding investigations.

"Am I in trouble, Ron? Is that why you came to interrogate me?"

Ron sighed. He slapped the manila files on top her desk. "It's been our annual run of the Ministry employees. Checking our employees to ensure they are not under any pocket of organization like the Death Eaters."

She growled her frustration. "I am not a Death Eater. Nor, am I a spy."

"I ran your finances," he said abruptly. "I know about the extra vault."

"You're out of your bleeding mind if you are accusing me of hidden resources." Hermione rubbed her temples. "Honestly, Ron. What is going on?"

He pushed the file forward. "Go on. I didn't bring it to torture you."

She read through the file without a having a minute passed. It was very clearly a run through of all her finances. The reported accounts that she gave the Ministry: two Muggle bank accounts and her usual vault at Gringotts. Those were the ones she used. The ones she opened for herself.

But there was another on the list. A deep vault. Old.

Her mouth dropped open. "Th-there must be a mistake. I don't have another vault. Especially not in that part of Gringotts. That's all pureblood territory."

"Yeah. I know it is," he said.

"I didn't open another vault at Gringotts."

She knew she didn't. Those weren't even accessible to the public. Pureblood families had all those deep vaults claimed, Hogwarts had a few. Sure, a few had to be open from those who died or vaults consolidated when marriages happened.

It still didn't make sense. She wasn't associated with any families like that. Only the Weasley family, and their vault was not buried deep in Gringotts at all. Not even on the same level.

"Who is their father, Mione?"

Her jaw locked closed. She refused to answer.

"Who is he? A pureblood?"

She bit her tongue so hard that iron bubbled up inside the wet of her cheeks.

There was no way she was going to answer that. Their identity was paramount. If her children were compromised, it would ruin everything.

Ron shifted in his seat; her attention snapped back to him. In her office. Right now.

His face changed all at once. "You know something I always wondered."

Hermione remained silent. He continued.

"Curious, isn't it? Why Malfoy changed sides, did all that stuff for Harry and the Order."

He paused to watch her face. "He knew it was Harry when we were brought at Malfoy Manor, didn't he? Not that hard to add it up. The git wasn't stupid, of all things he was, it wasn't stupid. Silly, that. His whole family switched and helped us defeat You-Know-Who. I wonder why he did it."

Tears threatened to spill over her well-built dams. She kept her eyes focused on the hands in her lap, unable to answer without a sob echoing out.

It was a Malfoy vault. She held a Malfoy vault in Gringotts as his first wife and mother of his children.

Oh, Merlin. The news felt like a spell to the head. She fought hard to remain in the present moment, but all the memories of him and her flooded back like a wave of bile. As hard as she fought, they fought harder. Their revenge for all the years she held them back. Vengeance over her denial of the happiness moments of her life before the life of motherhood knocked her out of the world onto another level.

A level she denied Draco Malfoy.

Still she swallowed her guilt back down.

"Why now?" She muttered as the tears receded. "Why only discover it now?"

"New legislation. Just released family vaults information to enforce the anti-corruption policies."

Hermione nodded, silent and reserved in her thoughts. Honestly, she didn't know what to say about it. How could Ron Weasley possibly understand? Much less, forgive her for never revealing the truth. She'd only done what she could. Malfoy's safety was on the line. It was her only choice.

Ron glanced down at the open file. "It has the dates, you know. Of when they were opened."

Indeed they did. Every date. Even the one on the Malfoy vault.

"Wait. This can't be right." She glanced up at Ron's impassive face. "It says it opened after the war. That isn't right. It can't be."

He just shrugged. "Dates are right. Checked meself. It's all correct."

But that didn't make any sense…

Draco Malfoy was a busy man. He had an empire to run with multiple operations extended over the course of hundreds of employees, magic and non-magical folk. Life in the wizarding world depended upon him greatly whether they knew it or not.

One thing he did not have time for was staring openly at a signed document with a smear on it. Yet, that's where he found himself.

The dot between Hermione and Granger confused him greatly. She was a known perfectionist. He knew it well, too, that a government document would never pass through her hands finished with an ink smear not matter how small or insignificant it was.

What's more, how the smear came to be rattled his thoughts. More than it ought to have midday during a work week. He had plenty to do. Various inspections, personal visits to branches, checks to sign, new grows to acquire yet not thinking of the document pained his heart more than his head hurt _while _thinking about it.

She sent it from her office at ten in the evening. It was bound to be because of her lack of attention and perhaps a great deal of needed sleep she delayed in consequence to more elves suffering. That had to be the only plausible explanation.

Then, that sunken dark place always had a suspicious answer that left him more confused than relieved.

_What if she intended to write Malfoy? _

It was ridiculous. Laughable even. Hermione Granger was not a Malfoy. He doubted that she even counted her marriage to him as anything other than a mistake. She fought not to take his last name. It'd been years since she even used it, and not in front of others.

No, sleep deprivation was the only reason.

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose as he placed the Ministry notice back into a side drawer where it could haunt him for many more weeks before it was eventually banished in a fit of rage.

Rage it was, too. It raked his skin in hot flashes. Tingles touched at his fingers, climbed up his arms and shot through his spine with jealous pangs of magic. How it poked and prodded at him with need for release.

Soon enough, he'd pounded his fist against his desk.

Things were just fine this way! Why'd she go and ruin it? They hadn't spoke since she left him. She left him. It wasn't his fault she went away without a word or sign of return. The witch ran away without regret of what a mess she left him in.

It was all her fault for the mess. A mess he'd gladly rid himself of if he could will himself to lose the memories. A potion was all it took to rid him of the thoughts of her soft moans of sleep, or the way her hair smelled after a bath, or the sparks that swirled around his belly whenever she touched him. A sharp look of frustration that he loved to see and press further. There was a cute little snort she did in a fit of anger.

Gah! There he went again. Sentimental over a witch who was long gone. Long gone. Never to return.

At this rate, he was just as bad as his own mother hoping for Hermione's return as if it'd cure the black veil over the Malfoy family.

A knock at his door lifted his attention but not his bitterness. He beckoned the visitor in with a sharp tone of disruption.

It was only a sandy-haired wizard sent up from another department to cover for his assistant, Ganon, since he'd fallen ill at the last minute. Draco scowled as he walked the fearful wizard tip toe into the main office like a scared child.

"Yes? What is the meaning of this disruption? I am incredibly busy."

It wasn't a lie. Draco was technically busy. Or, supposed to be.

"These are all from your owl," the man said with a slight quiver in his voice.

Draco rolled his eyes as the wizard inched forward, arms filled with letters and papers and a few magazines. The papers were bent at awkward angles as they jostled around his arms.

The look of fear remained at hardened gray eyes glared, teeth ground together in irritation at the interruption, although without scathing complaint.

The eyes followed him straight out the door without another word.

He hated new people. Ganon was an impeccable assistant, as Draco Malfoy demanded for the position, and a simple immigrant from another department was hardly worthy enough for the station. It took him four months of interviews before he found Ganon or rather, four months of utter horror at how impossibly daft some people were.

Plus, Ganon sorted through his mail and dealt with small matters that were beyond Draco's care. Draco had important things to handle, not childish drivel that flew in on every owl's foot.

He never understood how much Ganon sorted out. The pile was a mountain atop his massive worktop.

With the assistance of magic, Draco was able to sort them into three piles that better dictated where his attention went. His attention was a precious rarity.

The first letter was a bust. It was a thank you letter from a new employee he'd never even met before. It was banished quickly. Honestly. Someone thought it worthy to waste his time for a polite thank you of employment? Wasn't he the one who was benefitting from the deal?

He sighed as he opened the next. He was greeted with a proper surprise of quarterly profits as outlined from the accounting department aligned with the budget. Malfoy Holdings was in the black. Not that it was a surprise. Draco was gifted in business, as it was natural for him, a Slytherin. Business utilized many of his natural talents as was the reason why so many purebloods were rich and Slytherin. They bred to be entrepreneurs.

Draco then spent half of his day notifying his other investors of the raise in profits and the request for another meeting to review. He'd written so long that his eyes started to blur all the letters together as he scratched away. The quill tip broke twice from use. It'd been a long time since he wrote so much.

He'd just finished when Theo Nott entered his office, eyes wide as saucers.

"Did you see it?" Theo asked.

Draco quirked an eyebrow. "Thought I told you not to come by for two weeks? You've got another six days left before I'm not pissed about your nonsense."

"You still on about that?" The wizard plopped down into a chair unceremoniously.

"You cheated on your wife, Nott! You just about got dragged by everyone in town for that."

The wizard scratched his brown hair, pushing the hairs every which way like an unshaved mutt. He was disheveled to say the least. Trousers and socks didn't match. His shirt wasn't even tucked in. A stain on the edge of his tie was days old.

Theo Nott was a peculiar Slytherin. He wasn't sharp, or harsh like Draco was. The wizard was surprisingly subdued in the house whereas the others were outspoken, sneaky, and manipulative. Nott was none of those things.

He married Daphne Greengrass, his late wife's sister, not long after Draco married Astoria. They were often around one another until Theo's first affair was revealed. Then it was hard to find him and Daphne in the same place for months until they reconciled with a strong renewal of their passion, then came the absence once more. Daphne never said, but it was clear that he'd been caught with another witch.

It went back and forth like that for years. She'd finally given up on the marriage, and very publicly, tried to divorce Nott.

A divorce was a black mark to a pureblood family. Their reputation was forever sullied if the word was even mentioned.

Draco was the only one to convince Daphne to give the marriage another go. He saved his friend's ass from embarrassment. Not that Theo cared.

"Daph would have stopped before it got too far." His tone was far too relaxed.

"The bloody hell she would," Draco snapped. "She was ready to change her name back, you idiot."

His friend shrugged. "She has to do what she wants, but she always comes back."

The level of denial was unbelievable.

Draco slapped a letter down to his desk. "The witch will ruin you, and all you care about is to shove it in some girl's pussy for a second. Doesn't it matter that she'll get all your vaults if she divorces you? You'll have nowhere to go."

"Meh. Malfoy Manor is big enough for another."

A wand was suddenly raised to Theo's face. "Like hell it is."

"What? You wouldn't give a mate shelter?"

Draco looked up from his business not the least bit amused. His wand laid near his hand. Suddenly the urge to hex Nott raised in question, like it wasn't sure if it was a good idea or a great idea. All he knew was that he was entirely annoyed.

"I don't have time for your stupidity today," Draco explained. "I'm busy. With a job. You know what that is, don't you?"

"But I didn't even get to tell you about what I saw!"

"I doubt I'll be interested."

Theo's version of news was entirely one sided and half the time, made up. His imagination greatly collided with reality. It mushed together into franken-stories that were entirely beyond the realm of possibility and logic.

Draco turned back to a letter from a supplier. It gave horrid news. All the grows, wild and farmed, of Aconite were cursed. None of the plants grew in their normal patches. They all faded to gray and turned to ash as time passed. No remedy has been found. The supplier won't have any on their shipments, and until further notice.

This gave the Wolfsbane potion a status of unbrewable.

It wouldn't matter except for the fact that all the doses were snatched up from a strange American who had every intent to buy every last one.

He'd been so lost in calculating his next move that he hadn't realized Theo had been actually speaking the entire time. Draco blinked twice to be sure.

Yeah, his mouth was moving. Talking away without notice that Draco's focus was elsewhere.

"What are you going on about, Nott?" He snarled. "I've got work to do. Make it quick and get out."

"It's Granger. She's back."

What on Earth was he talking about? "Back?"

"From the dead it seems," Theo announced. "Prophet caught her out with Potter and his wife last night. First time she's been seen in Diagon Alley since the end of the war. Say she's been abroad or some rubbish."

Draco's heart lurched up high. He had the Prophet on his desk under the mass of business he was expected to tend to. Just knowing a picture of her lurked there set him on edge. Every sensation felt overwhelming. Soft silk against his skin raised his heart rate as unwarranted images of a young Hermione Granger wrapped in his arms flooded to mind.

He swallowed carefully hyperaware of himself. "I hadn't read todays yet."

"Never thought she'd end up looking like that, mate. She'd made a pretty wife if she wasn't Muggleborn. I maybe would have considered her before Daph."

The indifferent grey gaze turned to a cemented glare. It was instinct to feel his rage flare up at the slight, even if he couldn't act on it, he still felt the insult was against him more than anyone.

He loved that Muggleborn when she wasn't considered desirable, as Nott put it, and would have killed any wizard who had the gall to imply that she wasn't beautiful then. Her mind worked circles around them all dimwits in their year. She held her head high in halls as vicious rumors spread through the halls. The enduring spirit never wore under the constant pressure his housemates put on her.

Draco cursed himself then, knowing full well he'd been part of those awful things too.

It'd not been done in malice. It was simply the way it was. Each had a part to play.

Still, the patience he extended to his old school mate wore thin.

"Out. Get out. Now, Nott. Collect your jaw from the floor and get the hell out of my office."

An outburst from Malfoy was not an oddity. It happened often enough. Theo knew his friend to only ever be unagreeable and temperamental, so it was easy to brush off as a tantrum and leave it at that. It wasn't enough to even relay onto another.

Theo strolled out of the office as if he'd just stopped by for tea and was done with his business, not been verbally thrown out by his own friend.

"Six days, Nott. I don't want to see you for another six bleeding days," Draco shouted after him.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

FLASHBACK

_Dumbledore froze. His body went limp. Light faded from behind his eyes as the body he once resided in fell against the railing in the Astronomy Tower. Draco stood frozen, wand still in his hand. Not that it mattered. He hadn't the heart to use it on the old man he knew as his Headmaster. A man his wife so greatly admired. A kind, powerful, understanding man. _

_Snape stood near his side, cruelly empty, as Dumbledore's body cascaded out of view. Downward. Ever downward._

_He'd never seen a person die before. It was eerily cold to watch, feel power pulled from the world. All sensation cut off. The only thing he felt was the burn in his eye as he hadn't dare blink away the moment. _

_Yaxley, the Carrows, and Rowle turned away. Greyback was already gone near the exit. His hunger to rage was near boiled to the edge. Hairs stood on edge near the werewolf. Something was darker than he felt from the others. Greyback laughed when the curse struck the old headmaster in the chest. _

_It haunted Draco's ears, that laugh._

_None of it felt like he thought it would. He thought he'd be safe from the Dark Lord's vengeance. Hermione and his son would be safer with the Dark Lord's good graces._

_He had to protect them. There was no choice._

_But the spot where Dumbledore stood still stayed in his sight. Nothing was different. He still feared her survival. Survival that was essentially ensured by Albus Dumbledore, now gone._

_Horror seared through his entire body._

_He'd just killed the only man strong enough to face Voldemort in a fight. _

_Suddenly he was yanked by the collar down the winding staircase and through the castle by Professor Snape's hand. His mind wiped clean. He allowed himself to be pulled through until chaos surrounded him. Curses flew every which way. Students he recognized – the loony Ravenclaw, Longbottom, Weaselette – battled the Death Eaters around him with determination. A few more older people appeared as backup to help the young students stop the group._

_None of them knew it was too late. Far too late._

_Greyback bounded away, fangs bared, and knocked a red-headed wizard to the ground. His long claws scraped away at the man's face. _

_Draco swallowed back bile when the man's screams splintered through the castle's walls. He never knew such violence. Against students. Kids. Unmatched in experience and knowledge, yet the Death Eaters carried on as if it were nothing but easy game._

_Again, he was dragged away by Snape. His potion's professor walked through unbothered, a simple hex delivered to a wizard at the front gates of the school._

_The distinctive cackles of his aunt bounded around the empty night air. A sudden shatter of glass erupted._

_ "Go," Snape yelled. "Go now."_

_He pushed Draco forward toward the others. Just beyond the front gates was the line of Hogwarts grounds, thus the line of anti-apparition wards._

_Draco walked away and apparated to Malfoy Manor where they were all expected to meet. _

_He was met with his mother's open arms and a taut grip on his shoulder from his father. He couldn't meet their eyes. Everything felt wrong. Wrong enough that he wanted to explode everything around him to rid him of the horrible guilt he felt._

_Hermione's chances were gone. She was disadvantaged in the war now, more than she'd ever been with him or their love child. Her life was held on a tight rope, and he'd just pushed her without realizing she had no safety line. _

_His son's mother. His own wife. _

_How had he been so blind?_

_Draco pushed away from his parents. "I have to go."_

_His mother held him tighter. "You can't, Draco. There is nowhere to go."_

_ "I don't want to be here."_

_Lucius stepped forward and lowered his tone. "Son, just what do you think killing Dumbledore makes you? That's right. A warrant is bound to be out for you already. You are a wanted criminal, Draco. Fugitive of the Ministry. Your only absolution is with the Dark Lord. Honor him, and he'll see you right."_

_Wanted. Criminal. Azkaban. _

_The bile was at the tip of his tongue now. A cursed reality crashed against him in terror-shaking waves. He struggled to remain standing in the presence of others, all who awaited the arrival of their dark master._

_As hard as he held himself, he reached out for his mother's hold. A watery pleading in his eye prompted her tight clutch of him at her side as she, too, awaited the Dark Lord's arrival. _

_When given his Dark Mark, he'd failed to see exactly what it meant to take it and just what would happen to him if he completed his mission. His love of Hermione was forefront on his mind when he thought of those he wanted to protect from the Dark Lord's wrath. He wanted her safe, marked as his forever at the end of it all. She'd be with him. Unharmed. Safe. Protected by his loyalty to Voldemort._

_He'd been a fool to think there was any sort of protection from him. None were so in power as the Dark Lord was._

_Hours passed of unbelievable fear as Voldemort decided his residence was meant to be at Malfoy Manor. Draco near vomited when he announced his pleasure in the surrounding of his vision of the future. Purebloods all honored in self-served air just as the Malfoy name suggested._

_It took hours before Draco was allowed to retreat away. Away from it all._

_All he craved was her flesh, the hot kiss of skin against his, as he never wanted to see the light of day again. They could bury themselves in the Lair and let the war pass by above them without care. He had resources, money. Hermione and him could live bliss filled years under ground with their child, every need attended to. _

_ "Cady." He beckoned his wife's elf to his side._

_The little elf appeared, tugging at her finger joint anxiously. It was clear that Dark Magic filled the walls of Malfoy Manor to the brim. Such a powerful atmosphere suffocated by black billowing waves of frigid magic._

_Magic that threatened her mistress left the elf in a near delusional state. Same as he felt._

_ "Take me to her," was all Draco said, afraid to reveal more._

_There wasn't a single Death Eater that he trusted with Hermione's life. Not knowledge of her. Nor her location. Her condition made him even more protective. She was his. His wife. There was nothing that would separate them. He'd make sure of it. He'd raze the world to nothing but ash if it kept her near._

_Cady apparated him to the old house just outside Hogsmeade. A cloud of dust entered his nostrils the second they landed inside. _

_He stalked to the Port-Key, descended the tunnel down below into the cavern, and landed atop his feet to eerie silence. _

_The Lair was different. Things were moved. Items rested atop their bed as if gathered in haste. _

_Breath caught in Draco's throat. _

_ "Hermione!" He called out._

_There was no answer._

…_silence. _

_It was all there was. _

_Sobs rattled his throat. "Hermione," he called again._

_She was gone._

_Deranged with rage and horror, he spun in circles. There had to be some place she hid. She had to be there. _

_He lost his footing near the edge of their bed. The floor. It was coated in an oily slick. Half of his face, his hand, and arm were coated in the mess. When he lifted his hand to banish it away, he realized the hue was a bright, bloody red._

_Draco shot to his knees, gasping out at the red puddle all around him, trembling with sobs._

_A sour hollow sound erupted out his throat as the pale skin of his fingers wove through the colored blood of his beloved. The lifeblood that bore his son anything more than a magical figment. _

_His heart screamed in his chest just as he screamed out into the world._

_It was all his fault. He hadn't been enough to protect her. _

_Hermione's blood was on his hands._

"I don't understand," Healer Longbottom said. Her hands covered her mouth. "How can no one know what this is?"

She gestured down to the sickly elf in an incubation tube for the protection of the attending staff. It was wrapped in used old linen cloth that the elves wore as a sign of their indentured servitude. All the rights Hermione's bill gave them went only so far. Tradition was still paramount within the wizarding world.

The creature had been there already a week.

Hermione shrugged. "I've gone to everyone I know. The eldest of the elders. The elves do not have any recollection of such an illness anywhere."

"So, you're saying that we have no clue to what is affecting this poor creature?"

"I can't even tell you to lift the quarantine, Hannah. There's just too much risk to the public if this can affect wizards or children." Hermione frowned. "We simply don't know enough. There's nothing that can be done."

They'd been up since dawn trying to navigate old elven texts and magical medical journals of every subject to find some semblance of the illness. The elf's symptoms worsened with treatment, and without. It was placed under a spell just to keep it in a state of suspension. It no longer felt pain. Thank goodness. Screams of a suffering elf were not ideal to anyone's psyche.

Especially Hermione's.

It reminded her of her children. The shrill pitch. Her heart wanted to cuddle the pain away until it was comforted. That risked contamination. So, it was not allowed.

"We have to keep the isolation and quarantine," Hermione stated evenly as she touched Hannah's shoulder.

The poor witch stared down at the creature with watery eyes. "Whenever the spell starts to lift, she starts to convulse. Her body is in so much pain that it actually shakes."

Emotion rose to the back of Hermione's throat as she pictured the little elf convulsing. It was awful.

"I'm trying as hard as I can," she said. "I'm meeting with a contact that has experience abroad. Perhaps it's a foreign sickness. He might have so knowledge that will help."

Hannah swallowed. "I will reach out to some of my contacts as well."

"Until then, we have to try and carry on. Make her comfortable and sated to avoid any additional stress."

"It won't help," Healer Longbottom said as she pulled herself from depressed reverie. "We've had every comfort and supplement needed for an elf's perfect health, and the body still degrades. She's developed ear rot."

A finger pointed out to a darkened edge of the elf's ear. It was not yet an open sore, but it was soon to be one. Ear rot was the way to tell if an elf was unwell or near death. It helped other elves avoid the sick so that they might remain strong.

Buried deep in her pocket, Hermine's wand vibrated slightly.

"Listen, Hannah, I've got to go. But if you need anything, don't hesitate to contact me."

The healer witch nodded as she scribbled on her clipboard. "Thanks for all your help."

Hermione apparated back to the Ministry, marched straight to her office and just about settled into her chair when there was a gentle knock at her door. The clock read 8:30, which was fifteen minutes earlier than she expected her next appointment.

She took an instinctive sip of tea. It was an instant regret as the tea cup had been from the day before.

Tea shot out of her mouth just as fast as it could, right into a brilliant spot on her carpet. Her eyes burned as drops of day-old tea dripped from her nose.

Brilliant.

A polite throat clearing interrupted her gasps.

She turned, a look of shock on her face, to a prim witch in her doorway. The witch wore a calf-length dress of black, with a belt of peacock feathers around her slight waist. Pale ringlets gathered at her right shoulder as did the tip of her enormous hat. Her ankle boots matched the blue of her feathers.

Hermione pulled at the edges of her pencil skirt. "Mrs. Malfoy. What a pleasant surprise."

Surprise. That was clear by the hot burn at Hermione's cheeks.

"Miss Granger." The witch tipped her head momentarily.

Her former mother-in-law glanced around at the non-decorated walls of the ministry office with disgust. A corner of her mouth lifted as she fingered the fabric of the office chairs, careful not to brush against their inferior wood.

Hermione knew for a fact that the witch preferred more traditional, luxurious displays of status through decoration. Malfoy Manor was crème de la crème in the wizarding world. Though they'd been relieved of their darker artifacts via the Ministry, most of their collection remained untouched.

Priceless statues older than time itself. Every room had a personally crafted art piece from a famous artist, a few of them Muggle. Even the bloody rugs were too expensive to walk on.

No, the basics that the Ministry offered were not up to anyone's standard. It was a government office in a near bankrupt world. The war and Voldemort practically drained their resources down to nothing.

Hermione stood in her office a ghost of herself at the moment before her. Her eyes were wide, false-faced demeanor dropped, and the shimmer of her happiness fell away. Pain coursed through her arteries and veins in a burning vengeance.

How much she wanted to ask about Draco. His name was on the tip of her tongue. She was closer now than she'd ever been to him.

What happened to him during the war? How has he coped? Was he well?

The silence of the air was violently impossible to break. Hermione was too stunned to even open her mouth. She'd not seen Narcissa Malfoy since her trial where Hermione had testified to her allegiance to the Order at the final battle. It was then that she'd last seen Draco, too.

There were no words that fit the occasion.

Narcissa observed the scones on the wall as she ran a gloved finger over the faded glass. "What a dreary place for a pretty thing to work."

It was comforting that Narcissa had not changed. At least it was easy to fall back into old routines.

"The bare minimum is all I need," Hermione said. "It'd make me too content for change if this place was the way I liked."

The witch clicked her tongue. "Indeed."

Coherent thought found, Hermione was able to extend an arm. "Please, sit. Pardon my manners. I've had a long morning."

Narcissa was not pleased to sit in one of the Ministry issued chairs. She stepped up to their side with a fixed frown. Still, she sat on the edge of her seat in the kindest ways a Malfoy could muster.

"I apologize for my sudden appearance, Miss Granger. I'd hate to interrupt the important work you attend to." She gave a sort-of forced smile. "When I received your letter, I was under the impression that a meeting was required as some information left me confused."

Hermione blushed. She'd written a frantic, late-night letter to Narcissa (after a few glasses of wine) to inform her of the mistake in the vaults. After days of pining and overthinking and obsessing over the information, she'd gone home to clear her mind since it told her to write to Draco immediately. The wine was supposed to help her courage. All it did was revive her worry that they'd have to speak in person, and she wasn't strong enough for that.

Narcissa was her next best alternative.

They'd gotten along fairly well when she was hidden within Malfoy Manor. The witch respected her place in Draco's life and as the bearer of their grandchild. Of no means were their terms self-initiated, but it helped things to not have an enemy in the woman.

"Believe me, I was fairly confused myself." Hermione took a seat across from Narcissa Malfoy. She was sure to keep her back straight and chin up. It was a little trick she learned from her time in Malfoy Manor in terms of getting respected. "However, after contacting Gringotts myself, I've found the error is genuine. One of the Malfoy vaults is in my name. I requested that it be relinquished back to the control of the Malfoy family and not me, but they say that it is impossible without a direct request from the controlling family. You."

"As a link to the Malfoy family, you are expected to have your own vault, Miss Granger. That is ancient family magic at work," Mrs. Malfoy said without the slightest change in tone. "It is a combination of the Black and Malfoy family vaults since Draco is Head of house Malfoy and Black. He would be the one to discuss this business with."

"I am aware that Draco," her voice quivered as she said his name aloud, "is the Head of Malfoy House and Lord Black. As a man in that position, I assume such items are below his notice."

"Draco is a most attentive man when it comes to his family."

She pushed her moist palms under her thighs. "But, I am no longer apart of family Malfoy. It seems inappropriate to keep a vault within my name with the link severed as it is."

"You are my son's wife."

"Was," Hermione said quickly. "Was his wife. But that has been absolved."

"We do not recognize such dealings."

Hermione dug her nails into her palms. "The law does recognize them, which is why I request the vaults be removed of my name. Immediately."

Narcissa inhaled sharply. "As distasteful as it is to you, family tradition only recognizes a first marriage and nothing more. Divorce is hardly an acceptable part of law. It's place in magic is nonexistent. Your place will always be in House Malfoy as my son's first and _only _wife."

Her tone was condescending in a way that raised a deep-buried girl of insecurity. Hermione hadn't been looked down on since her days at Hogwarts. It was a bitter taste in her mouth.

"As distasteful as it is to him, he should have thought of that before he divorced me!"

It looked as if she'd raised a Muggle gun to Narcissa Malfoy's head. She was utterly stunned. Her back actually fell against the back of the chair like her dropped jaw.

As much as times had changed, the Malfoy mistress was not used to being treated so bluntly. It was times like that, that Hermione prided herself on being Muggleborn. Strict ancient rules of wizarding tradition weren't upon her shoulders.

Of course, she regretted her loss of temper. That was not professional. As a ministry employee, Hermione was bound to a strict set of behavior guidelines that demanded she be at the utmost respectful and as a front for the entire magical government.

Her shoulders fell. The wrinkles of her skirt picked at her nerves. It was not supposed to be so tense. She didn't mean to be so upset about the past, but she couldn't help herself. Things with Draco were a fresh wound that always picked open. Especially with the reminder that they shared children. No matter what, she couldn't forget that he was their father. She was bound to it forever. But could she keep it up?

She sighed, totally intent on apologizing when a hasty knock interrupted the intense quiet.

Narcissa Malfoy adjusted herself quickly, though the surprise was still clear on her beautiful, un-aged face.

Hermione sat like a deer-in-the-headlights when Adrian Farrington marched in. He stopped short when he noticed another witch in their company.

"I do apologize," he stated with a painfully nervous smile. "I'd assumed I was the first meeting of the day as I've been told it is impossible to have a meeting any earlier." His amber eyes glanced down at Narcissa. "Ello, ma'am. I'm Adrian Farrington. You may call me Adrian for short."

When he extended his hand out in acquaintance, Narcissa jumped to her feet. His manners were not custom in magical society. Nor London.

The Malfoy mistress touched the edges of her curls. "If you'll excuse me, I must be going."

Hermione was completely shocked when her former mother-in-law practically dashed from her office.

"Boy, I do make an impression, don't I?" Adrian joked.

Adrian wore a khaki on khaki outfit, complete with brown hiking boots and pulled up tan socks. It was positively safari-like. Much too much for the wizarding world whose fashion sense hadn't changed since the days of Merlin.

He stuck out like a sore thumb with his odd Muggle fashions. Also, the plaited goatee like the false beard's of ancient Pharaohs. His hair was of a chocolate brown, similar to Hermione's, with a tousled texture to it.

There were rim-less lens that hanged down at the tip of his nose, too. Much too low for actual use which is why Hermione suspected they were apart of some costume rather than his own style.

"Good morning, Mr. Farrington." She was more than cordial to the wizard even though he drove her crazy. He'd been brought in on numerous occasions for being more than a little pushy with Aurors when they responded to a suspicious character lurking around the woods at night. "Thank you for being able to respond to my letter so quickly."

He smiled a crooked smile. "I was most glad to hear from you. Last time I was in the Ministry, you were too happy to be rid of me."

"You're reciting of magical law did give me a beautiful migraine," she stated.

"It was the only thing to keep my mind off the awful accommodations of this Ministry."

"Hassling local werewolves is an odd pursuit for a wizard who believes the Ministry is an awful place to spend a Saturday night." Hermione crossed her arms. "Have you thought about knitting?"

"Don't got the fingers for it."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. She hated the games Adrian loved to play. He was a werewolf fanatic. He'd been put on her radar as soon as werewolves came under Ministry eye, thanks to her new pursuit of legal protection for the creatures. It was against the law in England to bribe creatures to places without notifying the government, something that Adrian encouraged the packs to do which is why he avoided her at all times.

It never stalled his constant interest in dating her. More than once he'd asked her to a restaurant. She felt more inclined to decline, not by the fact that she had secret children at home but rather by the fact, she felt it would turn into a high pressure interview as to what was being done in legislation for the werewolves.

If Adrian had attended Hogwarts, there was no doubt he'd be assigned to Slytherin for how sneaky his motives were.

"You've been pitching that werewolf colony again, I see." It wasn't a question because Hermione knew it to be true.

"Come on there, Miss Granger." The man shrugged. "You know a place with protection, community, acceptance is absolutely needed for these creatures to thrive."

At least his cause was in pursuit of noble things like equal rights and protection. However, as a member of the English Magical government, she was not permitted to allow such things to continue from an outsider.

His beliefs were far different from her own on a personal level.

"Separation from society is not acceptance, Adrian. It isn't protection. It's a cop-out."

All things were easy when removed from a tough environment. That didn't encourage growth. All it did was pull the bounds of separation further apart.

Adrian lowered his voice, a saddened tone. "Haven't you ever wanted a place? A place where all the people like you got to live their lives without fear or discrimination? I was bullied as a kid. I know what it's like. And frankly, it never gets any damn easier in the world. Don't you want them to be happy? Not have to try so hard? This is an easier life for those werewolves."

Hermione roused at such an implication. "I'm not selling easy! I'm selling equal. Fair. The world doesn't work without it and life is always difficult. But I won't let you rob the rest of society their chance to learn to be decent to differences by hiding all those who are different under a single roof. It is ridiculous."

"You will not change my mind," Adrian said.

"And I will not hesitate to prosecute you if I catch you selling that alleged utopia to the packs."

The wizard rose from his seat, sensing the end of their meeting.

He extended his hand, which she took. It was a bit too warm for her liking. She was still more transfixed by the encounter with Narcissa Malfoy, he could have bitten her on the neck, and she wouldn't have given it a second thought.

No, it impeded her the entire day.

She threw herself into legal drafting for parts of her new werewolf legislation. In the future, she'd thank herself for starting the difficult work before it was required. And as a bonus, it kept her mind focused.

When that line of thought started to wear thin and allow thoughts of Draco Malfoy to enter, she switched back to her research on the undiagnosed elf illness. It kept her at her desk, bent over copies and copies of books, medical journals, published research and Muggle articles long after the Ministry was left empty for the night.

It echoed like a lonely bird song in an empty glade as she walked to the vault of restricted access. Not a soul in the building. She couldn't believe that even the Auror's office was empty. They were constantly staying the night after a raid or finishing up paperwork due in court in the morning. Hermione poked her head in to a black room. Not a single breath.

Hermione continued on her path to return the resources to their accessible place and dig up others in their place.

The Ministry kept all sorts of literature pertaining to every subject available. She was given access to the vault as part of her elf research when she started. In all her years of using it, she'd been the only one who ever did.

Just like old times. Information forgone to 'figuring it out'.

She found a new stack. She grimaced as she eyed their titles in her quivering arms. None gave her much hope for answers. Still, a life hanged in the balance. Her own children depended on the conclusion of the case.

The reminder of her children gave her renewed power. She could do it. She had to do it. It'd all be sorted out in one of the books. All the answers were there. She just had to find them.

She burst into her office and placed the stack of books against her desk with raspy breaths. It had been a good long while since she'd needed to strain herself that much. Her eyes closed as her heart tried to steady itself to a nature pulse. It failed miserably. It pounded in her chest like a horserace.

Hermione sighed. She wiped the strands of sweaty hair away from her eyes.

A black figure emerged from the pitch black of the hall.

"I think it's time we had a talk, don't you?"

She struggled to reign in her breathy pants as sweat beaded on her forehead. Her hands fanned at her face, unable to process it.

He was there, in front of her. After all these years.

She shook the spinning thoughts out of her head. "Talk? About what? There is nothing for us to speak of."

"I disagree." He shoved his hands into his pockets. "We need to discuss this business with the werewolves."

"My business with the werewolves, you mean. My business. As in my own."

She couldn't believe it. After all this time, he just skipped right over all the awkward 'haven't spoke in five years since our divorce' nonsense, straight into being a controlling git.

"You've gotten yourself into something deeper than you think."

She took a deep breath. "If you'd like to discuss werewolf business, you may make an appointment with my assistant in the morning. As of currently, my office is closed."

A dark look took Draco's eye. His ice cold glare turned on her.

"Do not think you can get rid of me that easily, Granger. I know my right to be here."

"And what right is that?" She scoffed. "The concerned Malfoy interest party right?"

"I came here as a favor out of concern," he spat. "You'll find that I am the sole supplier of the Wolfsbane potion in all of England. My company is the only one that grows, harvests, and brews it. My sources have been depleted to nothing. All my grows are cursed, wild and farmed. Shelves have been emptied by a single buyer. As of now, magical London is in a severe shortage of the potion. Which, in turn, affects you."

She hadn't known about the potion. It was no surprise that Malfoy's company had a tight grip on control. It was one of his valuable traits. However, the short supply was a worry. If werewolves couldn't keep their minds during a transformation, they'd turn full werewolf.

Wild animals.

Her legislation would never go through.

Hermione threw herself into action. "We have to find other sources. Other grows."

"I've tried. There are none."

She looked up from her quill. "None?"

"Not a single one that isn't cursed. I've checked myself."

"I've got to meet with the packs. They'll need to know. Perhaps ration their supply."

Draco cleared his throat. "I don't think so."

"They've got to be warned."

"They're turning into rabid wolves, now. You aren't safe until they're under control of themselves," he said. "All bets are off when their off their potion. The symptoms turn them into fiercer beings the more they turned unprotected. It's not safe."

She slapped her hands against her desk. "Safe? You think anything I've ever done has been safe?"

"Exactly my point!" He shouted, equally loud back at her. "Nothing you do is safe which is why I suffer the way I do."

"Suffer," she mouthed the words. Of all things Draco Malfoy did, suffer was not one of them. "You cannot begin to know the meaning of the word suffer."

He looked as if she'd slapped him across the face. It hurt her heart to watch that ashen face turn from rage to resentment.

It was all she expected their reunion to be like. His anger over what she'd done would shine through brighter than any other emotion he could feel. She'd have to relive her worst memory every single waking moment with him.

He'd break her heart into a million pieces all over again.

"Leave. Just leave."

His hands exited the pockets of his dark suit, so easily faded into black. He was a black mark on her past. A memory of her failures and successes in their bitter sweet irony.

"Looks like that's your solution for everything, isn't it, Granger?"


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Draco returned to the Manor more bitter than ever. Hermione was crueler than he remembered her. It was low for her, and that bleeding heart of hers, to degrade his suffering to nothing. His loss was genuine. A wife and four children in the ground were proof of that.

How dare she belittle those things!

Of all people, she'd know that pain more than anyone. They shared a death between the pair of them. A dead child. Their hearts felt that weight like a goddamn stone of bricks against their chest.

He sighed, running fingers through his limp locks.

There was no point in hating her for all her anger. It was entirely his fault that she hurt in the first place. He failed in his duty as husband and protector, a rightful shame that he bore on his chest as clear cut as a red A.

He deserved the hate.

"Cady!" He exclaimed.

His voice echoed through the halls of Malfoy Manor. Every descending sound down their emptiness reminded him of that night, so many years ago, when he'd waited for Voldemort to congratulate him on his successful assassination of Albus Dumbledore. Every shred of wallpaper reminded him of that night. The night he lost his only love. The night Hermione lost their child to a pool of blood, left for him like an expelled shame from her body.

He was a black mark to everyone he knew.

"Cady!" He cried out again. Irate.

The elf popped by his side. She remained silent.

"Place a bottle of Firewhiskey in the suite and don't disturb me," he instructed.

She twitched nervously at his side.

"M-m-master," the elf squeaked.

"I said, do not disturb me."

The elf bowed her head. "Forgiven me, Master Malfoy. Mistress Malfoy has requested to see you immediately."

He took a disgusted sniff. The last thing he needed was another conversation with his mother about his failures and shortcomings. He'd been reminded of them enough for one night.

"I'll speak with her in the morning," he stated. "Now do as I say, Cady."

She followed her orders with a decided choice of aged whiskey. It burned smoothly down his throat as he guzzled the liquor at a swift pace. The bottle was empty within twenty minutes.

The more the whiskey filled his body, the more his mind filled with her.

He'd smelled it on her when he entered her office. Lavender and mint. It was a scent that haunted all his beloved dreams like a fleeting cloud. He'd anchored himself to the floor on the other side of her office just to resist his need to collect her in his arms and hold her against his chest.

His wife blossomed into a beautiful woman in the years they'd parted. Her body was slender yet curved. The wild mane of curls was slickened to smooth, matured curls that framed her face in luscious beauty. Her eyes were all the same. Their sharp cinnamon swirl flamed in lighter shades when her anger peaked.

She was just as he remembered her.

Draco demanded another bottle of whiskey. One bottle wasn't enough for all he felt.

For once he wanted a dream of her that wasn't accompanied by the nightmares of the war. They all blended in his mind during the night. He saw her face in corpses. Fallen witches slaughtered like animals, bloodied and bruised. She at the end of his own wand.

He only slept through the war with the help of potions and liquor.

Still, every morning, he awoke with the aching pain in his chest at her disappearance. Her name was on his lips. It dared him to ask for news from Snatchers. Word. Just one word. He wanted to know she wasn't captured.

There were nights were his mother restrained him with every spell she could muster just to keep him trapped within the Manor. It was the only thing that kept him there. Otherwise, he would have tracked Hermione down and hid her.

His mother wouldn't let him out of her sight because of it.

She bound him to a hollow existence in his living tomb of a home with a mass murderer within the walls, forced to relive every regret of his life, unable to rest or calm, broken with worry and heartbreak.

Draco hated it.

It took three bottles of Firewhiskey for his mind to finally stop all work. He slept in total blackness until the bright shining rays of early morning sun poked him awake.

He laid stretched out on the floor of the uncharted suite. The one they'd shared once.

The rising of the sun was the creating of a new mask for him to hide behind. He rose up to his feet, dusted himself off and marched to his own suite to ready himself for breakfast with his mother as he did every morning. Hair combed and styled. Fresh suit and trousers and perfectly shined shoes. He looked like a Malfoy heir ready to conquer the world.

Just like every morning, his mother sat in her usual chair in the dining room with a paper in hand. She read through opera glasses. Her lips were sloped down in a distinct frown that didn't seem to lift as she observed him take his place at the head of the table.

"I expected to see you last night," she said simply, turning her attention back to the paper.

The headline read, "**Mysterious Elf Sickness: Will it spread**?"

"Yeah, well, I was busy, Mother."

His plate was filled with a simple piece of toast, preserves, and breakfast potatoes. The most important part of his meal was the coffee that would sober him up and keep him alive throughout his day at the office.

"Not too busy to lock yourself in and drink yourself to sleep."

His eyes snapped to his mother. She bit a cut piece of strawberry off her fork. The paper was set aside. Instead she focused on her dainty teacup, lumped full of sugar and honey.

Draco turned back to his plate. "I'll be late tonight again."

"We have something to discuss first," she said.

"I have work. Can't it wait?"

She tossed him a cross look. "No, Draco. It cannot."

He exhaled exaggeratedly and placed his coffee cup aside.

"What, Mother? What possibly more can you want from me? I work. I fill those ridiculous vaults though they'll never be empty in a hundred lifetimes. I allow for every expenditure that you ever need. I've taken over the Black family estate as well as the Malfoys which fill my nights in constant correspondence and headaches with the blasted Ministry. I've married and tried four times for an heir. We did everything possible to bring a viable life into this world, and it killed Astoria in the process. There cannot be more that you ask of me."

Narcissa rolled her eyes. "Weak breeding is what killed that ridiculous woman. You should have never married her."

Again. It always came back to that. His decision. His awful decision that robbed them of an heir to their lineage. Despite all his attempts with multiple doctors and treatments and experimental procedures, all the money he spent to save his children's lives was not enough for her.

Nothing was ever enough.

Draco sipped from his coffee in silence. He kept his ears open but his mouth shut entirely. There was no winning in a game that he hated from the beginning.

The thought to cast a fiendfire spell to the Malfoy family holdings leapt to mind with a pleasant calm.

"I do not like being lied to, Draco. It is unbecoming to be so caught in one that is used in my face like a curse," his mother said sharply. "You've been caught now. Time to come clean."

"What in Salazar's name do you mean?" He hissed.

"You told me that you spoke to Miss Granger after the trial."

Draco's jaw clicked closed. He had lied then about it. It was the only way that she'd leave him alone.

His mother was displeased with his silence. Her utensils dipped down to her plate.

"She contacted me about the vault in her name," she said. "She had no idea about its existence. It was only brought up because of the Ministry's paranoid invasion of privacy."

"I tried to stop that from passing," he mumbled. "Too many supported it for us to ever have a chance."

Narcissa eyed him closely. "She should have known long before now, Draco. Long before."

"What was I supposed to do? She stopped loving me during the war. There is only so much I can do from afar."

"That witch did not stop loving you. She still does."

"You're mad." He'd never said that to his mother. It felt foreign to be so uncontrolled in his emotions, but they ran wild whenever she was mentioned. His mother knew how much it ate at him. "Hermione Granger does not love me."

"She does." His mother nodded. "I've seen it."

The jolt of electricity shot through his body brought him to his feet. The screech of the chair against the wood floors was undeniably ugly.

"Seen? Seen. Seen, Mother? As in…seen?"

He stood directly across the table; finger pointed. There was nothing else he could do.

Narcissa Malfoy nodded. "Yes."

"When?"

"Yesterday."

"Yesterday." He blurted in disbelief.

He'd seen her just last night and the emotion behind the meeting was far from loving reunion.

"She wrote me about the vaults. You know how impulsive those Gryffindors can be," she said flatly. "I met with her in her office so that I might understand. I had been under the impression you'd talked since the war. Not that I should be surprised by anything my son does anymore."

Draco's brow furrowed. "And what is that supposed to mean?"

"Divorce, Draco. Divorce. I'd expect better manners from you. I am your mother, not some reporter. You cannot just declare she divorced you when it was you who cut ties first."

He staggered back, unable to breathe. "I beg your pardon?"

"It might do you some decency to remember your House and stand by your truth. I'd respect you more if you did."

"But…" He gasped. "She divorced me."

Narcissa narrowed her eyes in sharp anger. "The witch herself told me that it was you who divorced her. Her heartbreak was genuine. I know it to be truthful."

What kind of game was Hermione playing at? She was a Gryffindor. They were known for their brutal honesty in unappealing ways. She was the highest, most respected one. The Gryffindor princess would never lie to spare another's feelings. Especially his mother.

He raced through his thoughts. "I never sent one. I don't believe in divorce. I didn't even bloody want one."

"Then how did this happen?" His mother exhaled.

"Father told me it was just the curse of being a Malfoy," Draco answered quietly. His father had given him the signed papers of divorce. Her name scratched upon the dedicated line. "Witches couldn't handle the pressure of what it took to be one."

His father had been against the joining since the beginning when they announced their secret marriage during the war. He once convinced Hermione that if she did not annul the marriage herself, that he would do it and oblivate her.

Draco thought that Lucius' hatred of the witch laid in the past. Hermione bared a child of Malfoy blood. No matter what, despite every circumstance that she could put herself in, a Malfoy mother topped all. It was apart of their family magic. It was why the family magic recognized her, even now. It was the reason why the elves would still respond to her if she ever requested for them.

Hermione would always have a place there.

It made no sense why his father would want her out of the way. Unless…

"Damn him!" Draco said suddenly. His fist pounded against the ancient family table.

Of course, it was his father. Every awful plot that left Draco scarred beyond recognition with no will to live was hatched in his father's demented mind.

He stormed out of the dining room to the study. His father's desk with all its contents were still there. Draco rummaged through the drawers. He threw papers over his shoulders as he searched. Rubbish and important estate paperwork coated the floors in the same unimportant heap.

It had to be there. It just had to be.

Drawers were ripped off their hinges and emptied atop the worktop. Everything spilled down from one giant pile. Draco dug through parchment upon parchment until his eyes spied just exactly what he sought. A letter from a barrister. The divorce one that officiated the documents between Hermione and Draco.

There in plain light was the truth.

His father had requested that a divorce filing be sent to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizarding on behalf of his son, Draco Malfoy, and be delivered to one witch, Hermione Granger, for the first step in divorce proceedings as were done in muggle courts. It was also said that all discussions between barrister and the Malfoy elder be kept from the parties since it was bound to encourage 'raging fits' in which no accomplishment would be made.

Triple compensation promised for secrecy.

Draco sank to his knees, clutching the paper to his chest. Despair washed over him.

She hadn't divorced him; she merely complied with his perceived wishes on behalf of Lucius Malfoy.

"Cady!" Draco screamed frantically.

The small elf appeared. "Yes, Master?"

"Firewhiskey. Now."

He heard his mother enter the study. The clicking of her heels not hidden by the vast mess of paper.

"Oh for Merlin's sake, Draco," she scolded. "You know better than to throw a childish fit."

She waved her wand and mumbled the cleaning spells until the study was in order once more, apart from one thing. The letter. That stayed in Draco's grasp.

Cady reappeared a moment later with a bottle of whiskey in hand.

His mother scowled. "You still use her elf?"

Draco dismissed the elf, bit the cork of the bottle with his teeth and titled his neck back intent to fill himself entirely with whiskey until his blood burned like the amber liquid. Just as it was to pour into the dark hole of his heart, the bottle was yanked from his grasp.

His eyes bulged at his now empty hand. There was no way he was staying sober. It was too much.

"The last thing you need is more alcohol," Narcissa hissed.

"Give it back," he growled.

He was Lord Black and Malfoy. It was his house in which they resided. His word was as good as law.

"I certainly will not." His mother huffed her cheeks. "I will not see my son descend to a useless madness like his father."

"A father who ensured it would happen." His fingers held the letter. "He separated us._ He _was the one who requested the divorce take place. Not me! Not her. Him."

Mistress Malfoy kept her lips pursed tightly together. "Your father has failed you, Draco. Many upon many a time. He has failed me more than times than I can count, too. In part there is some blame to befall me. I gave him too much free reign over your life and mine. To that I will answer to. But you, Draco. You are a stronger man than he. You are not a pathetic pile of a man to spend his days doomed in darkness and whiskey.

"Ever since you were a child, I knew you'd be difficult. For the first four months as a babe, you slept all day and spent all night crying for me. I was at my wit's end, even with the elves. You were just determined to be on your own schedule, no matter how hard we tried. You stayed true to what felt right. That witch is who is right for you, Draco. Merlin knows, I do not understand it, but I know it to be true. This witch carried your spawn and bared that pain of its death all while protecting your name. Under torture and belief of death, she kept her tongue. She testified in front of the entire world for you. The least you might do is treat her with respect. Respect her pain. Honor her sacrifice and make her a rightful woman."

Breath rattled around his rib cage. Every motion ached.

"She stopped loving me long ago," he said.

"Draco Lucius Malfoy. You listen to your mother." Her hands pinched both his cheeks so that his attention stayed fixed on her. "Dispute the divorce. Find your way back to her. Give her all you would have given her in the time she's been gone, and I swear, that hope will come back to that heart of yours. The name of Fate will prosper on Malfoy House once more. Mark my words."

He nodded. A direct order from his mother was not a thing any man could ignore. Not with his upbringing.

Draco swallowed down the overwhelming urge to drown in a bottle and put to work righting his wrongs.

His mother left him in the study with a smile upon her face. Her hope never died out for the young couple, as she knew that two could not be so devoted in love then lost to hatred forever. There was no other for either. Draco tried his best to move on from her, and all he found was a rotten excuse for a witch.

The withered soft witch of Astoria Greengrass was no match for a powerful monarch like Draco Malfoy.

A Malfoy man did not tolerate a passive-mannered witch. It never worked. Lucius' own parents knew that. His mother was far too soft spoken and well-bred to ever overstep her husband, which left him wanting more. Even moving in a rambunctious mistress whore into the Manor never raised a peep from the woman.

No. This witch was certain that Hermione Granger would be a Malfoy once again.

Honor of the house would be restored.

Later that day as the sun sank back below the horizon, Draco stilled his work at his father's desk. An entire day of research of magical divorce law and contact with several discreet barristers and attorneys gave him a migraine. Although he had numerous people of experience on the case, none of it felt fast enough.

He wanted the divorce undone. He wanted his wife back.

There was no way to be clearer in the urgency of the issue. All those tasked with undoing a magical divorce were focused with the upmost outcome which was rewarded with great monetary gain for all those involved.

What else was he missing?

He clicked his fingers at a loss of what to do. Hermione was the only thing on his mind.

They'd spent their years of Hogwarts ducking into rooms or under expertly crafted privacy wards near the Black Lake. At first, it'd been tense. They hated one another. But then she was petrified. A young Draco Malfoy whom had called her a Mudblood first and laughed at the thought of her death, was stricken with terror as he viewed a petrified Granger in a hospital bed.

His life changed. Something about her taunted his thoughts. He stalked her through the corridors of the castle when she thought no one noticed she sneaked out past curfew. Under the guise of competition for highest grade, Draco and Hermione spent almost every night within the library, studying. She read through books that were well beyond their ages. Just for fun.

It baffled him. She was so thirsty for knowledge.

One night, one miscalculation later, and they were hidden underneath a library table as the caretaker, Filch, trudged up through the rows with an outstretched lantern in hand. Despite their small size, both were pressed against one another.

And it just happened. Neither understood why, but their lips touched in fiery passion.

That was it. They were lost in love from that moment on.

Draco dug through his desk in a snap; it would take more than a faulty divorce to convince Hermione back. She was much too determined for that. He had to show her that it was truly him whom she'd fallen in love with.

There was a little package, neatly wrapped in faded paper, secured with a golden bow ribbon. It had sat in his belongings for years. His intention had been to gift it at their reunion at the end of the war. The symbol of their formed bond.

He delicately caressed the colored paper. Ruby red. The color of Gryffindor and Hermione Granger's heart. It matched her in every way: bold, brilliant, overbearing and beautiful.

Draco's owl carried the package clutched gently in its talon. Along with a single line of a note.

It wasn't much, but it meant something to the pair of them, a fact he hoped she'd still remember when it was read.

He sent the owl away on its mission. With luck, she'd see it in her office as soon as she walked in. It was early for the Ministry, but for his bookworm, he doubted it was too early for her.

Draco snapped his fingers with a slow sigh. "Pawcett."

He spoke without a glance at the creature. "Go to my office and bring my work back to me. I'll not be going in today."

It was unusually quiet. There was no pop of apparation to signal the elf's compliance with the request. Despite his migraine and overwhelming wave of emotions that plagued his mind, he turned his chair to view the space he expected empty.

The creature stood there in the center of the study. It trembled. Pawcett's neck snapped in a sharp degree to a 90-degree angle. Draco stiffened in his chair.

"Pawcett?" He brushed the fallen blonde hairs out of his vision. "You do not look well. Are you ill?"

Once Draco spoke, the creature froze in place. Its eyes stared blankly through their large, black pupils.

Blood started to drip from the elf's ear onto its shoulder. Lines of dark red blood ran down the grayed flesh of the house elf like three rivers cut through bare land. A pool started to form below Pawcett's long nails. Strands of the rug swallowed it up greedily.

Alarms started to screech in the back of Draco's mind.

What was it that Hermione had written in the memo? Personality changes. Fever. Intense pain.

He reached over for his wand, something the elf noticed, because just as his grasp neared the hilt, the elf snapped its fingers and the wood flew across the room.

The threat rose. "You are not yourself. Give me my wand. Let me help you."

A cool slick trickled down Draco's spine. There was no attempt from communication from Pawcett. He stood still, wide eyed and frozen in place, like a betwitched person without control of their own actions. It was obvious that the elderly elf was not the type to rebel. Pawcett worked for the Malfoy's all his life, and never once slipped up. It was against the elf's nature to act defiantly against its master.

There was a distinct change in the air of the study. It zapped at the back of Draco's neck. He turned in surprise. Whatever was going on, the house's magic was being disturbed. Collected.

He watched in awe as items of the study pulsated. Waves of magic coursed through their bodies, fabrics and woods and paper. It all throbbed.

"Masters request-t-t-t is my pl-pleasure." He spoke for the first time.

Draco's eyes widened. "No. Pawcett. Don't!"

It was already too late. He had no time to dive for his wand. The elf's spell transported the pulsating furniture, items off the desk, Draco and Pawcett himself through a hole of magic. It sucked them all down a dark shaft of magic. Wandless and powerless to stop it, Draco fell into darker depths too black to see through. No matter how hard he tried, there was nothing but pitch black.

Darkness swallowed them up.

He heard Pawcett's unintelligible rambles. The sick thing was going to kill him. Draco had to find some way to find a wand. But there was none. There was nothing but darkness, stretched as far as his eyes could tell. His limbs were leaden. It felt as though he was weighed down at the joints with boulders. The harder he fought, the quicker his body slowed.

Panic leeched through his thoughts. Rapid breaths echoed all around him. Their hollow, sorrowful sound aided the panic to burn throughout his body, the urgency to surface from whatever blackness he drowned in.

He was dead. He was going to die. In a dark hole. Not a single soul to miss him.

_ "Can you promise me something Draco?" Hermione asked._

_She knew that he'd rip his own heart out if it pleased her so._

_ "Anything."_

_Her lovely tone fell silent. They listened to the waves of the water around their glass-encased cavern._

_Draco poured over her face in question. His pupils were wide, a straight view of his pale gray hue. Their hands were knitted tightly together. The pressure built as the silence did._

_He spoke again. "Anything, Hermione. Ask for it and it's yours."_

_ "Promise me that you'll keep yourself safe," she said softly._

_Too many already knew of their union. How long would it take for Voldemort to discover the truth? His compromise was to be soon, if they weren't careful._

_ "That's a given, darling. I am a Slytherin after all. I know how to protect myself," he snorted. _

_Slytherin was so different than Gryffindor. She should make Harry and Ron promise it more than Draco._

_Hermione still felt anxious. "I mean it. Don't do anything to make them question you. Even if it means leaving me to fend for myself, stay on You-Know-Who's good side, yeah? Promise me that."_

_His body shifted in her arms. Draco turned rigid as a stone as he looked at her._

_ "Are you leaving me?"_

_ "No. I'm not so just relax," she said firmly. "Just worry about yourself. I'll be able to protect myself."_

_Draco looked down at her lips, unable to keep her gaze. "I don't question your ability to. I know you'll do what's right…Just don't want that, do I? Don't think I'll survive without you. You or my son. I'd rather Him kill me than part from you."_

Death.

The entire war made Draco wish for death like a faraway hope. It never came. Not even when he begged like a wizard below his station. He begged for death like a blind beggar. After his trial, he would have gladly walked into a line of fire just to rid himself of the shame he carried on his shoulders. After all he'd done, it wasn't enough to get his life back.

Hermione Granger. The woman who believed in him when he'd been an awful bully fulfilled by nothing but the terror he placed on his classmates. The woman who saved him from a darkness that had nearly killed him. The woman who he loved with all his heart.

She gave him hope that if something so good and brilliant could find some shred inside herself to care for a wizard like him, that perhaps, he was not as rotten as he thought.

The war changed many of those thoughts. He knew that he'd done things to ruin that beautiful woman in unforgiveable ways. Things that saved his skin and that of his mother's but risked many other lives in the process.

For a Gryffindor princess like Hermione, that was enough cause to wreak emotional havoc on all her standards she set so highly for herself.

Merlin only knew the pain he caused her.

But death now looked like a dark tunnel that he found himself hanging in. The cusp of endless torture in eternal black or a choice of life beyond what he lived.

No. His body screamed it.

He wasn't ready for death. It was not his time. Not like that. There was too much of himself he had yet to prove.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

"I think she's scared." The voice of her Italian friend vibrated through the small speaker of her cell phone. "You haven't been to visit. That seems to bother her the most."

"You know I can't risk transmission," Hermione mumbled as she fumbled with her keys.

It was a windy day. The hem of her skirt lifted with the first gust causing a line of shivers to run down her thighs. She cursed herself for not placing a warming charm before she left the house. It mattered not anymore. It was time for her to depart for work so that she might start contacting some of her werewolf clients to follow up from their meetings.

She'd completely neglected the relations with the group of creatures in favor of the elf epidemic.

"I know that. I'm not the one worried," Blaise commented. "But Madison isn't used to being away from you. It's making her moody."

Hermione frowned. She missed her children harder than during the war. They were so close within her reach, but she had to deny herself that reach so that they were safe. It brought tears to her eyes as she walked the Muggle subdivision with empty hands where her children used to hold.

Despite the early morning hours, cars left their driveways on the way to the city. A woman from a few doors down honked her horn and waved. Hermione forced a polite smile, waved back as she should and resumed down her lonely walk toward the Ministry.

It was days like it that made it hard to return to that place.

"Can I talk to her?" She asked softly.

Blaise sighed. "This is entirely out of hand, you know. You shouldn't have to suffer like this. They're your children. They need you. If you just bring them back to London and forget about the consequences."

"The consequences are their safety and happiness, Blaise. You can't ask me to compromise that."

"I'd never ask something that would hurt them. Or you."

Another gust of wind pulled at the umbrella in her hand. She fought to keep hold against the mighty force.

"Can I speak with my daughter, please?" Hermione huffed as she gained control of the umbrella. "We can talk about this later."

"Alright. Give me a sec."

She waited as the other line rustled, muffled voices spoke and a clatter of dishes collided against a table.

Her daughter's excited voice was the next thing she heard. "Mum!"

It brought an instant smile on her face. "Madi, darling. I didn't interrupt your breakfast, did I?"

"I just finished," the girl replied. "Cass is still eating."

"Are you both behaving for Blaise?"

"Yes," she answered, a little too quickly.

Hermione swallowed a chuckle. "Madison, why are you so upset at Uncle Blaise? Have you not had fun? You always want to go stay when you're at home."

The girl inhaled deeply. "Stay together. Like when Blaise and you teach us those silly board games, and he gets mad because he loses to you every time. Or the time we went to that beach. And Blaise taught Cass how to hold his breath under water. That was fun too, wasn't it, Mum?"

A stab went through her heart. What her daughter described were all the times that they were together as a family. The family her kids deserved. One that she denied them in a way because she knew it was impossible.

Their father, she'd just seen him the night before, was still just as handsome and impossible as she remembered him to be. And arrogant.

Oh Merlin, the gall of him to show up after so long just to pretend to be all concerned and controlling about her work. As if he'd kept an eye on her after all these years! He had to know what feelings would stir up when he appeared. He was not stupid. Even Ronald pointed that out. Draco Malfoy knew just how it'd affect her. It was like an eerie gift he had.

"I'll be there soon," Hermione replied. "We'll all have fun before you return to school."

"You've said that for two weeks now." Madison sounded very unlike herself. She was saddened. Part of Hermione wondered if she felt abandoned.

"I promise, it is for your safety. You can't be in London. My work is too dangerous right now." There was a limited amount she felt comfortable divulging to her young daughter. It was pointless to burden her with grown-up problems. The girl was stretched the way it was. "But it will be soon. I promise. Soon you and Cass will be home again. But not too soon. Blaise said you still haven't mastered surfing yet."

She bit her lip and said a silent prayer that her daughter would take the bait. All she wanted was to hear her happy little voice. It was difficult to listen to a voice she always noted was brimming with confidence and safety was now insecure.

Madison scoffed. "I am the best in the class. It isn't that hard. The only one close is a boy who is two whole years older than me."

"Maybe you'll be so good you could teach me," Hermione said.

There was a childish laugh on the other line.

"I've seen you on a broom, Mum. A surfboard is way harder than a silly broom."

Wow. That statement sounded so much like Draco. Her footfalls even stopped.

The apparition point came into view. A panicked redhead stood near, arms crossed across her small chest, and a nervous look in her eye. She turned one way then another. Something bothered the witch immensely.

Hermione felt the subtle bits of panic grab hold of her spine. "Uh, Madi. Something's come up. I've got to go. But you be nice to your brother. I love you both."

"Already you have to go?"

"I'm sorry, darling. I'm working as hard as I can to get you back. I promise it'll all be over soon. Please take it easy on Blaise. He loves you dearly."

The tone in the girl's voice shrank. "Okay, Mum."

"I love you."

Hermione clicked the phone closed. She allowed herself to steal a deep breath before she approached the red-haired witch.

When her eyes fell on Hermione, the witch ran up and grabbed hold of both her shoulders.

"Where have you been? Hannah's tried to reach you all morning," Ginny declared hysterically.

Hermione's eyes grew wide. "Why? What's happened?"

"Come with me."

Ginny grabbed hold of Hermione's hand. She dragged her to the apparaition point and waved her wand before a question could escape Hermione's breath.

They appeared into a bleached white room. The environment was sterile, with plastic curtains, white tile floors, and locked cupboards. It was a hospital room.

She turned to Ginny in confusion. "What's happened? Is it Harry? Ron? Oh my god, is it Ajay?"

"No." The witch's lips sloped downward. "It's Draco. His elf got sick. You know, with that illness the papers have been on about? Well, his elf went mad. Tried to kill him. He barely got out alive."

"Draco? As in, Draco Malfoy?" She could hardly breath. She'd just saw him the night before. How could he be laid up in a hospital bed so soon afterward? It was not believable.

Five years of silence in regard to him, yet she was now drowning in Malfoy news.

Ginny groaned in irritation. "Do not pretend to be so thick. Draco Malfoy was hurt. They don't even know if he'll wake up. The elf apparated them to a place where only Dementors go. Darkness. Endless darkness. He was trapped in that place without a wand. A wand, Hermione. He's lucky he even made it out alive."

"You mean…?"

Her bottom jaw quivered.

"He's in a coma," Ginny confirmed in a low voice. "His readings don't look good."

Behind a plastic curtain on the other side of a large, long-term hospital room laid the body of Draco Malfoy, battered and bruised, purple and black. His lips were bloodied and cracked. Split from dehydration, drained of all he had to give.

Bits of his soul were sucked dry. Nothing registered on the monitors in terms of brain activity.

Spell upon spell tried to awaken the delighted tone of a beeping machine to no avail. There was no stimulation that opened up the wave to conscious thought. Or much thought at all.

Hermione was overcome with grief as she beheld him in his bed, already a corpse before her eyes.

"Oh, Gin. Just look at him." Tears dribbled down her cheeks.

Ginny wrapped her arms around her friend's shoulders tightly, but the relief was nothing compared to the devastation. Hermione wobbled. Her hand shot out to the bed to steady herself.

Draco was dead. Brain dead, to be more precise.

All the spells were life support spells.

"Oh, Draco." She cried softly.

Ginny held up her other shoulder as she tried to comfort in the only way she knew how. "Everything is going to be okay, Mione. We can fix this. We'll find a way to make this all work."

"Don't you see that?" She pointed at the non-existent line meant to indicate thought. "That means the person that he was, is gone. It is just gone." More tears crashed down.

Who could this be true? Was life truly this cruel?

It was by some cruel twist of fate that Draco was dead after everything she had done to keep him alive during the war. All that pain and sacrifice she put first, all so that he might be able to live through it. Facts that she kept from him. For his benefit.

Their children. What would happen to their children if he died?

There would never be a day that they'd meet, spend days catching up for all the times they missed. Her daughter would never get to meet a man so alike her that they'd be thick as thieves. Draco would never connect with a son. No matter how many children he had, they still deserved that. He did, too.

Ginny whispered into her ear. "This is Malfoy, we're talking about. Malfoy. You remember him, don't you? He's too stubborn of a git to go down without a fight like that."

"Don't. Don't do that. Don't make this seem not, huge." Hermione wiped her cheeks. "Because it is."

"Let's just talk to Hannah, yeah?"

"Yes." The ground was starting to steady as thoughts cleared. "Get Hannah. I need her to give me his entire chart. Any information she has. I want his reports, tests results, everything. I mean everything."

"You sure you want to do that? You do remember where we are. How things are?"

Hermione shook her head. "I don't care. I don't care about that. I'll think about that later, once I've saved his life. Again."

They shuffled out of the room toward the healer office with stolen glances back at the wizard in the bed.

Once out of earshot came the faintest wiggle upon a line on a monitor. The start of thought started to form…

She reached her Ministry office sometime after lunch, completely exhausted, only fueled with strong sips of coffee and stress of the world. Again. Just like the war, she felt the pressure to succeed. For him. For her children. So much depended on her. Even the responsibilities that fell to her desk as Care of Magical Creatures manager within the Ministry were on her shoulders in added weight.

What should she focus her time on? Work, werewolves, elves, Draco, her children?

Pieces of each rested atop the conclusion of another.

Alizon notified her of the day's schedule. It was far too full. Hermione half-listened in her office chair with half her mind in the hospital with Draco. Another part of her heart was in Italy, too.

"Oh! And this came for you this morning." The assistant handed it over. "An owl delivered it personally."

Hermione's attention wasn't captured. "Thank you. That'll be all."

"Would you like me to contact the sender? Arrange a thank-you. I know you handle them personally, but I can assist if you are hard-pressed for time."

"I can handle things, Alizon. Thank you."

She ducked out without another word. It was nice to have a professional assistant.

It was just about the only thing nice in her life. The only thing not in shambles.

Her head fell against the desk. The wrapping paper crinkles against her face as she laid there, uncertain if anything would be alright again, and grimaced as she stared at the package.

There was no space in her heart to feel joy over receiving a gift. It was a kind gesture, sure. Kind was not in her vocabulary at the moment. Still, she held a position that required dedication. The Ministry expected certain things from managers. She had to uphold their standard of employees consistently, despite what she suffered through in her own personal life.

Hermione perked up as the gift rested in her grasp. There was a note that accompanied it.

She unwrapped the package, frowning at just what horrid commonality was extended to her, when a glittering silver headband with a bejeweled dragon emblem emerged the red gift paper. It was exactly like the one she had as a fifth year. Pansy incinerated it on the Hogwarts Express the first meeting of the Prefects. It had been Hermione's most beloved thing to wear, partially because it was some connection to Draco; Malfoy house sigil was a dragon.

It had been an impulse buy with her mother in a street market. Irreplaceable.

Her hands couldn't tear open the envelope fast enough. She had to know. How had he remembered something from so long ago?

The parchment trembled in hand as she read that recognizable scrawl.

_You promised you wouldn't give up on me. _

It was all it took for the dam to break behind her composure. Hermione crumbled to the floor. An unstoppable flood of tears poured down her face.

"I did," she murmured through rains of salty water. "I kept my promise."

Discomfort.

It was the first thing he felt. There was a taut pull with each breath he took. Every breath made him hungrier for more air. Clean, sterilized air. That bleached, overtly scrubbed feeling of dirty cleanness that prickled his flesh in revulsion.

That wasn't the Manor's smell. Or his office.

The crisp sheets against his body were enough to know he wasn't in the care of anyone knowing of his position as Lord Black and Master of Malfoy House. Otherwise, he'd rest on silk of the Indies. His mother wouldn't place him on simple cotton. Overused cotton, by the feel of it.

The room was silent.

He felt the discomfort rise. Silence, sterile air, and starched sheets.

Oh that was just bleeding perfect. A hospital bed. He was in St. Mungos!

"I can't explain it." A voice cut through the silence. It sounded familiar in a way an old movie brought back memories. He knew it from somewhere. "Once you left, his readings changed."

"Changed? Changed how?"

That pricked at his skin. That voice was one he'd know anywhere. Hermione was there.

She was the warrior for elf rights. Perhaps she was there to ensure he hadn't harmed the elf that sentenced him to death in its deranged mental state. Just to drive the nail in deeper to his heart.

"Malfoy hadn't shown the slightest bit of progress until you arrived. Low readings on every scale, just barely alive. But now, he's stabilizing," the voice said. "I've never seen anything like this. He should have died. I notified his mother of his condition myself, read the reports. We were preparing for his passing."

Hermione gasped. "You didn't even give him a chance, Hannah."

"We performed every healing spell possible when he arrived," Hannah replied. "He showed no signs of improvement."

The voices came closer. He sensed that Hermione and Hannah, a healer he guessed, were in his room now.

"Show me what has changed," Hermione instructed.

Hannah cast an array of spells over his body. He felt the magic flow through him. It eased the discomfort in his chest slightly, but he was more than willing to withstand it if it meant he could listen.

He was in St. Mungos, in an unreadable condition apparently. The healer did not sound confident. Hermione Granger, on the other hand, sounded adamant. She kept her tone firm and steady. By the amount of discussion regarding his condition, it sounded like she was well acquainted with it.

She cared.

A beep erupted through the room.

"See? Look at that. He's responding to outside stimuli." There was a pause. "We did the same monitoring when he arrived. Nothing. His body responded to nothing."

"That can't be right," Hermione said in awe. "Last night, I know his heart rate changed. I mean, I touched his hand. Once. It wavered."

Last night? She stayed the night in the hospital with him.

His monitors beeped wildly again.

"He responds to you," Hannah said after a few moments of silence.

A finger prodded at his neck. It pushed against his pulse line. If it had been in his power to turn away, he would have.

"What's that there?"

There was a change in one of the monitors.

"That's just a minor discomfort," Hannah informed her. "It's probably just all the damage he sustained while trapped. He should be in immense pain. The act of being nearly drained of a soul is incredibly painful to anyone, but I suspect it must be exceptionally for him. With all he's gone through. Some minor discomfort is lucky."

"But you've given him pain potions. There shouldn't be any… oh, look at his oxygen. He's having difficulty breathing."

"Hermione, some spells - ."

"I'll do it. Caelapud."

Ease came in through his nose and straight into his lungs. The tightness in his chest lessened until it was finally gone. It felt great. His body fit what into his mind as what it always felt. Despite being unable to move. That needed to change.

She was so close now. Hermione was within his grasp, and with so many things he needed to tell her, it was the only moment in which he could seize it. She was the love of his life. His one and only. He couldn't let her go another day without her knowing the truth. Years of silence did not do justice for all the emotions he knew were true. They were meant to be.

It was up to him. If he stayed silent, he'd be forced to watch her life from afar without any right to her happiness. Her hatred of him, he could accept. But not the truth. She needed to know it wasn't him.

A squeaky door opened. "Healer Longbottom. Come quick."

"I really should be going."

"Don't worry about it, Hannah. Thanks for this. I appreciate, everything," Hermione said.

It was just him and her. Alone.

She sighed. The soft click of her shoes grew louder, next to his left side. As more magic coated him, he guessed that she had run more spells on him. She held her breath as she tweaked with the monitors.

"I hope that's better," she finally exhaled.

He wished to see her eyes. Were they watery? Or tired? Was she there for him or her duty? It was every question in his mind that raised his level of consciousness higher and higher. The monitors sensed his change. The steady hum of his body thrummed throughout the room. The air vibrated with the positive note.

He heard her smile. "Of course. Just needed a bit of attention to turn you around, didn't you?" She sighed. "At least that hasn't changed."

Warm fingers slid over his wrist. His monitors beep wildly. There was the slight screech of a chair against the floor.

"Yeah, yeah. You said that last night," she said. "But for once, Mister Malfoy, you aren't the one in control."

Control. As if he'd ever had such a thing with a whirlwind like her. She was the most difficult person he ever, _ever _dealt with. From the start. It was just the way she always demanded to be in charge without help from someone else, namely him. If it was something Draco suggested for her safety, she seemed to want to do the opposite.

There was a dip in her breath. It wasn't so comfortable. The grip on his hand tightened.

"You should know better than to play with elves." Sharp sniff. "They've never liked you much."

Of that, he agreed. They did not care for him much. Except Cady.

She didn't know that though. Cady was her elf during her stay in the Malfoy Manor, and it was before he'd bonded with the little elf over concern for the missus during the war. She was the only one he'd trust in concern to Hermione and his child. Back then, there was no one else to rely on.

When Hermione ran away after the Battle of Astronomy Tower, Draco worried over her fate every day. It was his punishment. He was bound to roam the halls of Malfoy Manor like a crumbling statue held together with a single strand of hope. It was the thinnest part of him.

Cady's magic, as a house elf, offered him the slightest bit of comfort since she was bound to Hermione in a deep, magical way. She knew that Hermione was alive. That much she always promised. But growing up the way he did, Draco did not place too much hope in her belief.

Belief.

Many dragging years had passed since he'd had any bit of that.

Watching Astoria wither away since the moment of their marriage until her suicide had been a cruel sentence. He hated the pressure that he placed on her. At the time, it had been what he saw as his utmost goal. Children. Family. Love after so much devastation. Something to fill up the void that the war left him expertly scarred with. It was the fate of the house of Malfoy to fall with the defeat of Voldemort, as it had only risen to true heights under his praise.

He felt that hoping belief claw out of his heart. Hermione was so close. The closest she had been since their last time together, all those years ago, hidden in a magical mermaid's lair even in the midst of the chaos of the world outside. They were intertwined.

She may have detached from him, but he was far away from being unhooked.

A strong melody of singing birds and chiming bells erupted through the hospital room. Draco's mind flickered. He'd never heard such an outrageous, egregious sound in his life.

Whatever it was stopped with a tiny click.

"Hello?" Hermione said.

He hadn't heard anyone enter.

"No, no. He's doing much better. He's alive, for Merlin's sake," she said with a wavering voice. "He's so lucky. It was a close ca – what's wrong? What's she saying?"

Pause again. Then Hermione sighed.

"I can't risk it now. Not after what's happened to Draco," she said in a lower tone. "The illness has proved to be dangerous to be around. Even without passing it on, there is a great risk of it harming others. One of his elves lost control, transported him somewhere he couldn't escape. We don't know how he made it back."

She waited for the response before she continued, "They can't come home. Yet. I'm doing all I can."

"Wait, before you go, could you do something for me? Take a video of them on the beach. One of her on a surfboard would be brilliant." Hermione inhaled deeply. "I miss you guys. We'll all need a vacation after this mess, won't we?"

It clicked.

Draco was helpless in his blind paralysis. He sat with question. One look in her eye could help him understand what she felt.

She was nothing like the angry witch who he confronted just the night before (or however many nights it had been since then). There was something different in the way she treated the entire situation, as if they'd been friends the entire time. It was so familiar. She even joked. It was half-hearted at best, but still. Humor. Comfort.

His mother was right. There was something there for him.

Hermione's heel clicked around the flooring. It was at the end of his bed, back and forth in constant pace. Though it was slow, it remained steady.

"What are you doing here, Hermione?" She mumbled aloud.

Oh yes. Very typical. She was now questioning herself. It was a usual routine when she felt uncomfortable as an emotional conflict appeared. There was constant during her time at Hogwarts when her friends knew nothing of them, and she felt a betrayer of their confidence.

Death Eaters and Order members weren't known for their friendly relations.

There was no denial on his part that it was unfounded. She risked much more than her friends with their relationship. Her life was in question each moment. That was the safety on his part. Neither side had reason to want him dead. Hermione, on the other hand, knew that if her side did not win the war, she'd be killed for her blood status.

Conflicted was her permanent identity because of him.

"He's married. He's got children. He isn't here for you anymore." She repeated the words many times. A mantra. Her tone never changed.

But he wasn't. None of that was true!

Beeps of the monitors beeped rapidly. It was the only voice he had.

She gasped. "Right. Of course. You miss them, don't you? They haven't been in as far as I could tell, but," she chuckled sardonically, "doubt they'd want to visit with another woman in the room. Godric, what was I thinking?"

No.

Don't go.

She started to gather her things. Items tossed into a bag. All the while, her breath was rapid and wet. On the verge of tears.

Someone stop her, Draco screamed inside his head.

Draco had no power. He laid in a bed unable to do a bloody thing as the woman he loved readied to leave him.

Why the bloody hell did she think he was married?

What was going on?

Anger swept him. The awakened dragon of his temper brought back a might that ignited more sensations. He felt himself raise. Not in physical form, but mentally. His mind lifted up from darker depths. Thoughts became clearer.

"Goodbye, Draco," Hermione muttered.

No. She was not leaving without this. He wouldn't let her.

He focused on his body. One arm down at his side hanged limply in socket, no matter how hard he commanded it to move. But it didn't. Neither did his legs.

No. No damn it.

It couldn't end this way. She had to know.

Monitors in the room went out of control. Beeps were frantic, louder than before. Just behind the veil of his eyelids, he saw their flashing red lights.

Hermione startled with a loud gasp. She gripped the edge of his hospital bed since it shook slightly at the foot.

So close. She was there.

Say it. Say it now. It was the only chance.

He pushed the prepared words to the edge of his lips, ready to release them in air for her to hear. But whatever left his body a limp useless mess affected his mouth, too. It wouldn't open. It wouldn't move. The tongue twitched. Lips curled. Every thing was ready for the grand emergence. He tensed in bed. If he hadn't realized he was unable to move, he'd swear that his hands gripped the sheets.

During the internal battle, Hermione came close to the head of the bed. He felt the soft brushes of her breath against his forehead. She touched it gently.

"I just wanted you to know. I kept that promise. I never stopped."

Her lips pushed against his forehead in a final parting goodbye. Their long tender touch made it feel like an ending. A conclusion to the book that had been their lives somehow tangled in one anothers. He hated it.

Draco fought harder.

He struggled in every sense. System after system of his body failed him. Even as she neared the door, ready to leave his life forever.

It was his only chance.

The click of the door latch sent him into over drive. One moment. That was all he had.

It was like all the happiness of his life rested on that little piece of metal as it awaited for its purpose: to open to another length of journey or encase a journey not meant to end.

What was in his life without her? Honestly. Work at a job that pleased him little and stressed him lots? A family that consisted of ghosts and one dissatisfied mother. There was the occasional meeting of his old schoolhood friends to remind him how much he'd changed in life.

What it really was was emptiness. Total loneliness. There was nothing without her. Not one thing.

Suddenly a burst of white light blinded his eyes. Power came to his limbs. Words were alive in their preloaded position just ready to fire.

Draco swallowed down his last bit of pride. "Stay."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Hermione froze in place. Everything froze in place. Even her thoughts.

She'd just been mentally choosing which bottles of wine she planned to finish off in her pantry as a way to drown her sorrow at the completion of her knowledge of Draco Malfoy when the faintest voice of a long lost man reappeared.

"Stay," it said again. "Stay here. With me."

She turned on toe, sure she'd hallucinated it. Sleep was not easy to get with all the stress she'd been under. Werewolves, children, elf illness, public panic, and past lovers. In fact, she hadn't slept a wink in two days.

Hermione noted the drastic uptick in his monitoring spells. The one attuned to brain activity was heightened to max capacity. It showed that his mind operated normally with thoughts at the right level of consciousness and strength. His heart rate and breathing were all normal.

When she stepped closer to his side, she noticed his eyes were open. Blue gray brilliance encased in purple sockets.

She stopped in place. "Draco?"

"Stay with me," he repeated.

Strength to collect her jaw from the floor was left somewhere by the door. She just nodded her head in agreement.

He'd been nearly declared dead. A hopeless case. There was so little of a soul left to salvage him when he arrived. How in the hell did he…?

"Oh my god." She started to wave her hands and hyperventilate. "Hannah! Hannah, come quick!"

Hermione raced into the hall. She found the nearest attending mediwtich and dragged her to Draco's room. She rambled like a mad woman. It might have seemed odd since they all knew her to be a Ministry official meant to oversee the elf illness personally, but that hardly occurred to her in the sheer panic she felt.

Draco was alive. He'd survived a near brush with dead and came out victorious. Not that she was surprised in the least; Slytherins kept a good habit of staying alive. She'd never been more thankful for their slippery ways than then.

But how much of him had survived? Would the pain remain? Did he remember?

She pushed the young witch at Draco's bed. "He's awake. See? He's alive. You declared him hopeless when he first arrived. Contacted his poor mother with slim hope, made her prepare for the death of her son and you're wrong. He's survived."

"I should go fetch Healer Longbottom."

"That you should," Hermione proclaimed.

Hopefully they all learned their lesson of preformed expectations of other patients. It was never over until the end. Death was final. The rest was flexible enough to come back.

"Hermione, I - ."

"Don't speak. You've been through a lot."

"I - ."

Hermione shushed him. "In fact, you should be resting. So much trauma. Your body needs time to heal. I can find a Sleeping Draught."

There had to be one near. In a nearby cupboard perhaps. She started to move when a hand reached out and caught her wrist.

"You tell a man just out of a coma to get rest like he hasn't just slept for days on end?" The slight lift in inflection heightened her mood a bit. It was his attempt at a joke.

She let her shoulders fall. "Yes, well. Rest is the best medicine."

The whites of his eyes were littered with little red dots. Burst blood vessels. It turned an innocent gaze into a frightening one. "Hermione. There's something I need to tell you."

"It can wait." She patted his hand and placed it back down to his bed.

"No, it bloody cannot."

The door flung open. It was a blonde haired healer in a white coat overtop a simple suit, a bit too big. She was an interruption to his time with Hermione, one that he couldn't tolerate. If he paused a moment, she'd be gone. There would be plenty time to examine him later.

"I just heard the news. He's awake." Hannah was shocked.

He narrowed his eyes. "I need a minute."

All eyes changed to concern as they beheld him.

Hermione leaned close. "Draco, they need to make sure you're alright."

"I bloody am. See? I'm alive and quite irritated with people just helping themselves to my room," he snapped.

"Mister Malfoy, we really should run a few spells. Your condition was quite serious."

"A lawsuit is quite serious." Draco grew frustrated. He was Draco Malfoy, wasn't he? That much had not changed during his injury. Why did they believe they could treat him whatever way they wished? "It won't be long, but I'd like some privacy."

The healer, Longbottom's wife, was not impressed. She glared sharply at Hermione. It made a deep blush emerge on her face like she was the cause. He did not care for it.

"Leave us," he instructed.

"I can wait," Hermione murmured, already raised to her feet.

"No. You can't." Draco addressed the healer next. "I'll send in for a private healer if this is a problem. Malfoy Manor has a few on retainer."

The healer uncrossed her arms. "That won't be necessary. We'll give you a minute."

They promptly exited. And a hurrying silence descended in place of contempt that was there moments before. It was sharp. Hermione noticed it just as much as he did.

For the first time in nearly five years they were alone with many things to say in ways unable to be spoken. There was so much. Draco rattled through the list of things he had to apologize for: betraying her, withholding the truth of his allegiance, being the cause of death for their child. Where to start was the question. He'd thought the moment would come naturally. The words were within him only a minute before when he'd fought the trauma of his own body to speak to her.

Hermione crossed and uncrossed her arms a few times. She leaned against the bed with one arm, then pushed off to walk the length of the room instead. Her eyes jumped to each feature of the hospital room rather than land on him.

A flat invalid in a bed was not the way he wanted to seem in this preconceived moment.

He reached to his side for his wand but found nothing but emptiness.

"Where's my wand?" He asked quickly.

She bit her bottom lip. "Oh. Um. Here."

It was in a clear plastic bag on the worktop. The bag crinkled as she grabbed it tightly and brought it over. The wand was unsheathed from the bag, offered to him like a cursed object. He took it gently.

"Thank you."

He waved it over himself. The bed slowly transformed into an object worthy of him laying inside of. Pillows fluffed up in double their size. The back raised him up to sitting. Bleached cotton linens changed into charcoal satin sheets. Texture of multiple spells flattened to sweet delectable comfort. One look down at the pathetic hospital gown prompted another change.

Adorned in a dry-fit t-shirt and athletic shorts, an adopted Muggle style that he favored over stiff robes, Draco settled in feeling much more like himself than a hopeless case.

He swallowed a thick mouthful as he gathered what little pride there was left to have by a shunned and shamed ex-death eater Malfoy. "There's something we need to discuss, Hermione. I'd very much appreciate it if you could refrain from yelling until I've said it all."

"Why would I yell at you?"

"I don't know but I seem to recall a certain rage within you when I visited you last."

"Because you just appeared out of nowhere to lecture me on my work like we were friends!" She exclaimed. Both hands flew to her sides with outstretched fingers on each hand. "In every way I pictured that moment happening, that was not it. Not a single acknowledgment of who I was to you. Once. I get that you've got a reputation to uphold now, a family that depends upon you, but I thought out of all people, I'd get some level of personality when it came to you. Not just that same old façade from school."

"Why have you ignored me all these years?" He was far from calm. His emotions were near hysteric like her own. He deserved answers, too, not just her. He hurt, too. Much of what happened was a mystery since she disappeared without a single word. Not one. "I expected the same courtesy from you, frankly, and I was denied."

Hermione started to explain with a ramble but stopped herself short. She shook her head furiously. He watched her battle closely with herself before she took a sigh and finally raised her eyes to him again.

"I imagined that our acquaintance was a secret to everyone. Your wife included." She rubbed her temples. "We've no reason to communicate in any capacity."

"Apart from our history."

"Hidden history, Draco. Hidden."

He shrugged. "The war is over now."

"Don't treat this as a simple semantic issue."

"Then what issue is there?"

She snorted. "You cannot be that thick. You know what issues there are. Everything's changed. The world changed when Voldemort came back."

"I love you, Granger. That's not changed."

Hermione froze. For the second time that day, she stopped her motions to gape at him like a fish in need of water. Cinnamon eyes turned watery. She turned away from his sight. He hated when she did it. It was what he needed to understand. What she held away from him was close to the surface, he felt it.

Whether it was love or hate, he needed to see it.

"Stay with me," he repeated.

She rose a single finger. "Don't."

"I've thought about you every day since that night."

A single tear shed down her beautiful face. All the years he'd thought about her being close enough to touch, the memory of their hidden touches in shadows a forefront of his mind, and all he wanted to do was relive that feeling when she and him were one thing.

But they were no longer children. Complicated things stood in the way of what he wanted. One of the largest things being her. It'd take that stubborn lion heart of her years to acknowledge her feelings for him if it continued naturally.

Draco kept his gaze steady with hers. "I want you back."

"No," she said.

"No?"

Her jaw set with a definite click. She nodded once.

"Is there someone else?" In all his plans, he hadn't considered the possibility of her being in a relationship. The thought of another wizard made him angry. Was it Krum? She'd always had a soft spot for the dolt.

He forced himself to remain relaxed in the wake of the image of Krum and Hermione together. It did not aid his cause when the spells of his heart alerted noisily.

She checked the monitors with crossed arms. "You should rest. All this is making you unstable. I shouldn't have come."

"It is your place," he said. "You should be here with me."

"No. This is only meant for family. Your wife."

Draco threw his head back and groaned. "Have you hated me so much that you've erased all knowledge of me?"

She'd been prepared to leave in her sadness, but his anger ignited hers. A tender spot of nerves that waited for years to blow in his direction. Layer after layer of built up rage she'd stored over the war and possibly before rose to the surface.

"I've lived with the knowledge every day that you've moved on without me. That your life, brilliant and blessed, still continued to prosper after every thing I'd done for you. If anyone has completely disregarded anyone, it was you to me!"

"What do you think the bloody vault was for?"

Practical flames burst from her ears. "A payoff! An insult. A bloody promise to keep my mouth shut."

"How else was I supposed to take care of you? I made sure you wouldn't want for anything."

"Want." She swallowed a cruel laugh. "I've wanted every day since I left you to birth our son. I wanted my husband back. I wanted my life. I wanted love. I wanted to bloody matter to someone, not be just a secret."

The mention of their son left them both numb. Draco was covered in goosebumps as he watched Hermione hug herself tightly, shifting side to side. The fight on her face stabbed at his heart. That was his fault. All of it was. He'd killed their son with his cursed name, forced Hermione to bear that pain because he was selfish enough to not want to release her, and remained away when she needed him.

"You're right," he answered solemnly. "I shouldn't have stayed away."

"I understood it, Draco. I knew the moment that I left that you'd never want me again. It was just hard to believe that you hadn't even the courage to see what I did for you as a way to make amends. I did all I could to keep you alive. The trial, even. Perhaps I was naive to believe that it'd earn me a meeting with you before you divorced me."

The divorce.

Oh right. He'd been on his way to undo the thing when Pawcett attacked him.

He startled. He'd completely forgotten about the elf. "How is Pawcett? Did he survive?"

Hermione's mouth turned into a small 'o' before it subsided. "He's here. Not in the best condition. But, you brought him back in time to be sedated before he died from the pain."

"I'll need someone to inspect my other elves for signs," Draco said.

She nodded. "Already done. They're all healthy."

"Thank you."

Like neither of them expected her to tend to his elves when their safety was on the line. There wasn't another to trust so implicitly to tend to things like her.

"Actually, thank you."

He crinkled his forehead. "For what? Overtime? I'll venture the Ministry pays well for the circumstance."

She looked at him, unamused. "I'm salary, which I'm sure you already know, prat. No, I meant for the, well, the, gift you sent. It's identical. To the one before, I mean. Thank you. Honestly. I can't believe you remembered."

"I remember everything."

"Do you now?" She felt intrigued by that statement.

"You used to know that, Granger."

"Stop it. Stop that." She growled, irritated now. The path of pacing resumed once more. "You can't do this. You can't just show back up in my life and manipulate me like this. I've got a life. I've moved on, same as you. Maybe not as well as you, but I've done my best. On my own. Without your assistance."

He disliked the turn in her. "Why are so angry?"

"I can't go through all this again, Draco. I just can't. There's more at stake than just us."

"Wait. Stop. Where are you -? Hermione!"

She disappeared the next moment, gone from him.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Hermione crashed down into her house on collapsed knees. Tears streamed down her face. She'd done all she could to contain them in his presence because, in the last moment of it all, the truth of her heart was more vulnerable than ever. Transparent.

She was so bloody stupid. Deep circles of smeared eyeliner made her a racoon. The foyer mirror stared back at a woman, broken to the very core of her being, back to the years of her childhood when she'd been so torn apart by such a choice that it nearly ruined her. It was back again. With a wrath. It was the point, wasn't it? He wanted to hurt her. That was his love. A bloody hobby of his.

Hermione threw her belongings on the floor, sobbing as she did so.

"Draco Malfoy!" She shrieked. "Draco bleeding Malfoy!"

The father of her children was there within her grasp with a want to create something between them, and she knew that she had to fight it. There was a pit to fall into. She'd barely drug herself up out with two children in tow. Two children with whom she had to hide from the world. Her beautiful children were away from their mother because their identity had to be protected.

From him!

Draco Malfoy had all the power of the modern world, vaults with endless wealth at his disposal sat at the ready for the slightest whim, a dreaded temper to match that of a self-important wizard he was. Ever the attractive luring beauty, a siren, meant to draw in just about everyone for his perusal. She was one. She'd been drawn like a moth to light toward the seductive man, left with burn marks too ugly to hide.

Hermione would never be rid of her love for him. It latched too deep.

Madison and Caspian were another story. They had a chance at life. Their freedom from the Malfoy expectation and tradition and the subsequent reputation that came with the name was the hope for the future. She hoped that her two children would learn to live on the side of the light. They lived a life that Draco should have lived. One that would have kept him and Hermione united as lovers rather than distanced as strangers.

There was no strength left within her. She traipsed to her kitchen with only one cupboard in mind. It held three bottles of wine. They'd all been gifts when she purchased the home years ago.

Now seemed as good time as any to consume them.

Her hand trembled as she poured a glass when a soft clink drew her to the window. The ledge of the window held up a Ministry issued owl. She opened the glass and allowed the creature to fly into the perch where her own owl usually landed.

"Go on. Let's have it then." Hermione placed her glass on the worktop. A ministry owl late at night meant an urgent work matter. No time for wine.

The owl offered up its bounty. A letter.

Inside was a hastily scratched note from her assistant, Alizon. It was a report. A crime report.

Hermione gasped. She grabbed hold of a jumper, not a thought to appearance and the thundering heartbreak without her very soul like a reckless horde of horses ready to trample everything else, and rushed off into the Floo. It took her away to the Ministry where a scene of Aurors awaited her. She searched their faces. None were her best friends. Still, there was a face she didn't' expect to see.

One moment she allowed herself to enter the Hermione Granger of the Ministry, one breath deep in her lungs, before she pushed into the chaos.

"Mr. Farrington." She greeted him with a silent nod. "What's happened? I received a report of a slain alpha werewolf."

Adrian nodded. "Yeah. Slain is one word for it."

"What other word would you use?"

"Gutted. Shredded. Dismantled." He adjusted his glasses. "These poor creatures can't even be protected by their own government. It is clearly a hate crime. Some wizard thought he'd out a werewolf because he could. They are second class beings, aren't they? Being creatures of half intelligence."

His words might have angered her in another mental state. It was his advantage that she was more vulnerable than usual. A slain werewolf. A beast. Something people feared without understanding. A Malfoy of the creature world. She frowned.

The swirl of Aurors was overwhelming. So many spoke to wizards half in the night clothes. The other half was dressed in less than thoughtful outfits clearly hurried at the urging of Aurors.

Questioning witnesses and suspects in connection with the crime.

"How is it that you ended up with a dead werewolf, Adrian? Our last meeting was pretty clear on that subject."

"I was a guest of the pack," he replied. "I stayed in the home of Evander for a while. He was under the impression that we were coming to an understanding, as was I. Nothing illegal. He would report me if he had. Big supporter of you, he was."

Evander. The werewolf alpha slain in cold blood was Evander.

He was the alpha that she'd questioned a while back about legislation. He'd been cautious as expected, but seemingly more supportive of protection with the government rather than suspicious. It was her responsibility to keep the werewolves safe. If she wanted any of the packs to trust in the Ministry, the slaying just disintegrated that chance.

"I thought you were the one protecting the werewolves from violence like this," Adrian pointed out so cleverly. "Aren't doing a good job if that's the truth."

That was a punch in the gut. She stared at him, horrified. "Thank you for that reminder."

Werewolves had been at the back of her mind recently. Between the elf illness and Draco's injury and her children, she hadn't paid much attention to the workings of the werewolves. It was only because they weren't urgent business. Nothing was in stone with the Ministry and werewolves. How was she supposed to know that this would happen?

She approached the head Auror, Diggory.

"Digs."

Thick brown eyebrows lifted. "Miss Granger."

Her appearance was ghastly, she knew. He didn't have to look so shocked by the state of her. It was the middle of the night.

She swallowed back the urge to adjust herself to presentable. "Hermione, please. Just Hermione."

"Right, erm, Hermione." He looked around uncomfortably. "I told your secretary that it was not necessary to call you in at this hour. We'll still be here at the start of the workday."

"No worry, Digs. I don't sleep much." She pulled back her hair and started to braid the curls down her back. It was better than nothing. "Might as well help while I'm here. I can interview witnesses, establish alibis, assist with the investigation. Whatever might help."

Auror Diggory looked at the ground. He cleared his throat once, then twice more.

"There is not much investigation to be done, Miss Granger. You know werewolves fight during full moons. Some die. We'll do all the searching we can, but there isn't much we can do. This is creature business."

"Creature business."

That left a bitter taste in her mouth.

Creature business was code in the wizarding world for something they didn't care about. Animals were savage. As long as they didn't interfere with the ridiculousness of the rest of the world, they'd allow a practical genocide. Especially of the werewolves since they were able to overpower a wizard on his best days. They were the stuff of nightmares. The next Voldemort of the world, a dark boogey-man never to be spoken of.

A flame rose in Hermione's chest. "You mean, there is no justice for his murder. His murderer will go unpunished because his victim was werewolf."

"Werewolves aren't recognized to have the same amount of rights," Diggory said. "I am just enforcing the length of the law that I can. You know the predicament."

"Then why bother with all this?" She waved her arms to encompass the whole room filled in chaos. "Why waste everyone's precious time because a werewolf was slain? It does not matter in the least. One of them could admit to it right now and they'd be sent home. Save the effort. Send them home now, why don't you."

It started to become a scene. Aurors noticed the disruption. A raised woman's voice was not easy to miss nor the woman it was attached to. Hermione was used to being a spectacle at the Ministry. They all laughed at her work, found it beneath her station.

Once upon a time, Hermione had been considered beneath their stations too. A Muggleborn was not as wanted as a pureblood witch. Killing people like her might not be considered murder either, had Voldemort won.

There was always one thing or another with the bloody Ministry. Their blood-sucking ways so fickle as the constituents it ruled over. She'd spent her years in the fight for the light at the Order's disposal, then the Ministry's. Some of the best moments of her children's lives were lost to those bleak walls she hated.

Her children put beneath the next thing the Ministry distracted her with. A dangled carrot of equality for all for their work donkey, ready to take on any kind of bullshit task they asked of her just for that silly carrot.

The poster child for the Ministry's tolerance appeased for just another moment so that she might help opinion of their rule take shape once again.

Real change would not come. They'd never allow it. The same fat, rich, lazy people controlled the Ministry now as they did when Voldemort was in power, the same attitude to change. She was on their leash, unable to impact much in the flow of things without their own consent.

Tears formed in her eyes. The best years of her life were a stinging lie.

All the risks she'd taken, the burning nightmares that woke her from slumber in fits, a heavy heart full of guilt were their making. Happy to throw children's lives on the line so they might remain constant. Every veteran's episodes of PTSD were of little consequence when there were vaults to be considered.

It all made her want to scream at the top of her lungs.

War hadn't changed a thing. It was all the bloody same.

"I quit." She breathed.

Auror Diggory took a step back. "Miss Granger don't be ridiculous. It is just one werewolf."

"And one me." She swallowed. The weight of quitting her job hit her like a ton of bricks but rather, they were lifted away from her. The care of just all they put on her shoulders gone. Frivolous things that would find little way into her future. "I quit."

A flurry of thoughts surrounded her as she apparated away from the Ministry building. A peaked high like the throes of a thousand pleasures. She was finally done. Done with all the nonsense that kept her tied to a dying government body.

That giddy relief powered her through the night. She fell asleep buried within a favorite novel, a fresh cup of tea on the nightstand. No nightmares plagued her mind that night either. Brilliant sweet nothings whispered under breath, a loving kiss upon her cheek, a swollen stomach cradled in the arms of her love. The best feelings she had.

Draco. He was not soiled in those dreams. The war didn't stain his skin in midnight black ink. He was whole. Pure. The man she loved dearly loved her back. He was not a warrior nor was he brave, but he captured a Gryffindor's heart with a worshipping attitude that she missed on days where the entire world wiped their feet on her face.

Hermine allowed herself surrounded by the dream, unashamed. There was nothing holding her back. She could fantasize about her lost life all she wanted. No Ministry held her accountable.

Morning poured in through glowing curtains of high noon. She lazily stretched. Something clattered to the ground from connection with her foot. A giant bag of crisps.

Oh. She threw her arm over her eyes. PMS accounted for the craving. The ache in her back was another likely candidate, too, since she'd fallen asleep without a small boy kicking her in the rear end which was the cause of her usual back ache.

She snuggled the spare pillow that always held Cass' head. It still smelled of baby. Her baby.

Perhaps it was the PMS or the ache in her heart of everything that happened the past month, she yearned for another little being to cuddle. Chubby cheeks to squeeze. Big eyes to stare at when they looked up, so curious and in awe.

Madison was an active baby. She loved to move. Nothing slowed her down. Being a young mother with a secret child had been an exhausting experience that made her more than dependent on her parents during the summer holiday, the first two months of Madi's life. She slept on the floor of her parent's bedroom those two months. Every two hours was just too much. Hermione was stretched thin. She hadn't gotten to enjoy those precious moments for what they were: memories.

Now that she was older, more mature, Hermione wished she felt those. Actually felt them. She'd passed through the moments of diaper changes and baby baths in the sink without a thought to the future. When they'd happened, she wasn't too sure what a future even looked like then.

Then there was Cass.

She had none of those same memories as she had with his sister; war refugee was not a time to parent. There was a war she had to fight.

The night she went into labor was the night she learned of Draco's betrayal, his Dark Mark he'd hidden from her. Labor reflected her pain. Cass nearly bled her to death. She'd only survived because of what strength her parents gave her to survive the pain.

That was one of the worst experiences of her life. Losing Draco shattered every bit of joy she ever felt. His actions forced her hand. She had to hide their children in complete secret in case he came looking with his Death Eater friends. All memory of her was wiped from her family's minds. Love and recognition in her daughter's eyes faded, light gone from their warm brown hue. Every memory of they ever shared, gone.

A sudden chirp bristled the calm air. Hermione flung herself at her nightstand.

She pushed the plastic mobile to her ear. "Hello?"

"Not waking you, am I?" It was her father.

"Oh, Daddy. No. I've been up for hours."

There was a chortle. "Course not. My little Mione rises with the sun."

As a child, she'd always awoken early to start her day, much to the dismay of her parents, who endlessly wished for late mornings that only happened when she was shipped off to her grandparents every month.

It was a point that her father never failed to mention at family functions. And to her friends.

She sighed. "Yes, Daddy."

A commotion was on the other end of the line. It was a bit of shuffling.

"Oh – uhhh." Her father stumbled around with his words. "We were wanting to talk to Madison and Caspian."

She heard rapid whispers on the other end that sounded like her mother.

"Is that Mum?" She asked softly.

"We'd like to talk to the kids. Are they around?"

That hurt. "No. They're with Blaise for a while."

Blaise was one of the few wizards her parents cared for. It was Madison's instant attachment to him that brought the two around to the sly Italian wizard who used magic for everything.

Magic wore them down. After the years of bullying, the secret husband, a war over blood purity, and the ability to bend laws of nature left them distrustful of everything. When she'd tracked them down and freed them of their memory spell, her mother had been so heartbroken by the breach of trust that she refused to speak to her only daughter.

They stayed in Australia, loving the climate and wishing they'd moved years earlier.

The only reason they called was to speak to her children, the very children they despised her for taking back to England to raise them as hers.

Hermione sighed. "Things have gotten…complicated at work. And Blaise has been pestering to have them for months. So it worked out."

"When are they expected back?"

Magic was never their favorite thing. When she'd gotten her letter and been notified by McGonagall that she was a witch, it was upsetting for her parents whom always believed she'd find her way to normal in the Muggle world. They supported her as best they could, but it was not their world. It was impossible to truly understand an entire world they weren't privy to.

They wanted her to stay home, when she found them in Australia. It was their last straw. Magic had to be done with. She was supposed to break her wand, forget Britain, and become Muggle with her parents in a new country, one that they assumed had no wizards because it was far away from London. Little did they know, it was everywhere. Magic was in everything.

Even her.

She was as much magic as anything. It flowed the depths of her veins, coursing through every fiber of her being. Same went for Madi and Cass.

"Well, I suppose soon. I quit my job so…"

"You quit your job?" Her father's loud voice blared into the phone. "Does this mean you'll be coming to Melborne now that you don't have that silly Ministry to rebuild?"

She cleared her throat. "No. No, we'll be staying in London. Our lives are here."

"But your family is here," he said.

"Not all of them! Harry and Ginny and Ron and Luna are all here. Blaise is only a short ways away, too. You know how the kids love him."

It went on for a while about true family and the waste it was to have her alone in another country when she had children to raise, something she shouldn't do alone apparently. She clicked the phone closed in a huff and tossed it to the floor.

Shards of the mobile went in every direction. She groaned louder. Great. One more thing that she had to deal with when she felt it. Then she remembered a thought that lowered her back to the comfort of her bed.

She left the Ministry. There was no place to rush off to. No one demanded every ounce of energy. At the rate she was required, she could purchase one hundred mobile phones before it would be at her end.

Hermione slowly readied for the day, taking her time to enjoy breakfast and the paper, when a steady glow of fire expelled from her fireplace. A Floo call.

She raised her gaze from the comfort of the lounge with her paper and hot tea where the face of one of her best friends appeared.

"What has gotten into you?" The voice declared with emotion. "Are you completely off your rocker?"

Hermione grinned absently. "I've finally just gotten in it."

"Malfoy almost died and you up and quit your job at the Ministry?" Ginny was on full volume. The surprise of the announcement clearly prompted the call. "Harry just rang. Him and Ron got into work with the news everywhere. The Minister himself summoned them to his office just to ask if it was true."

"It is true, Gin. And it's not got a thing to do with Malfoy."

She gathered up her mess from breakfast and headed toward the sink. It was the first morning in ages that she felt refreshed, only the clock constantly reminded her that it was afternoon now. The sun shined brightly down outside her windows. Flowers in her planters' boxes bloomed in vibrant color. Water from her wand soaked into the soil greedily as she smelled the delicious scents with a newfound appreciation.

If only her children were there to enjoy it. They'd make a day of it. A trip into London, perhaps a café for tea. It'd be beautiful.

Just then, a long-legged figure stepped through the fireplace.

"Tea?" Hermione offered up the kettle.

Ginny raised her arms in question. "You can't offer me tea. You've just quit your job. You're unemployed. You're round the bend, Hermione. Can't you see that?"

She placed the kettle on the stove with a delighted exhale. "I've never felt better actually."

"Did Draco die?" Ginny questioned swiftly. "Is that why you're all…manic?"

"Of course not. He's alive and well. A prat, still, but well," Hermione stated evenly. "He told me he loved me. Said he loved me after all this time."

If eyebrows were ever able to be fly off a face, they would have flown off Ginny's.

Hermione shrugged and continued to tidy up her kitchen. "Then it just all came back. All that I'd done during the war, before. I did it because I thought I'd have a future with the ones I loved. My children. My husband. That job just kept me chasing after something they'd never let me have. Equal rights for elves almost never happened. They are the least dangerous of all the magical creatures, and their rights were resisted so strong that their equality was almost denied. Werewolves? It's impossible. Centaurs? Even more so."

She swallowed. "I'll never get that for them. And I can't live with that. I've got children that matter more. They deserve to learn love and compassion from me since they won't be learning it anywhere else."

"Hold on. Back up." Ginny grabbed ahold of each of Hermione's shoulders. "What about Malfoy?"

"What about him?"

The witch's jaw fell open. "What'd you say? He told you he still loved you. That is, well, that is huge, Hermione. Really."

"I left," Hermione answered.

"You left?"

She nodded. "Yeah, I left. Malfoy had his shot, didn't he? He just didn't want it enough."

"You just left the man you've loved all your life to die in a hospital bed because you're too afraid of losing him again. That's what you've done." Ginny sighed. "You've just lost your chance at happiness because you surrendered to fear."

Hermione snorted. Fear. Like she was afraid of anything!

"You do know I faced down Dolohauv and Bellatrix, don't you? Helped face the darkest magic known to the world to kill the most dangerous wizard of all time. I wasn't afraid then, and I'm not afraid now."

Ginny crossed her arms. "That may fool everyone else. Lucky I'm only your best friend who knows you're full of it. You were terrified then. But you faced them anyway. You didn't just run away because it got difficult."

"I did not run away!"

"Then why are you here instead of St. Mungos?" Her friend prodded. She narrowed her eyes at Hermione which made the discomfort settle in her bones.

It was for the best. Draco's life was secure and unquestioned. The Malfoy line remained unsoiled as purebloods saw it. Their children were out of public eye, protected. No one knew about their lineage thus they were left to live their lives as happy children of a war hero rather than a publicized scandal.

Each was left the best situation possible.

Sure, Draco missed his children's lives. He'd never know his firstborn was as beautiful as she was smart. Nor would Cass and Draco wrestle their first rowdy broom to the ground to avoid injury and hide it away from her so they weren't chastised.

Father's Day would be a sad occasion. They'd ask their questions and deposit their feelings into a little vial in their room for the man they never knew.

Hermione would lay awake most nights with a hazy daydream of his arms around her waist, an anchor to him. Some mornings she'd swear that he cradled her all night long, but with the morning sun came the realization that none of it had been real.

As her children's lives progressed, she'd choke back more and more sadness as they all missed a part of their family that was there in every single way yet shockingly absent. He was a part of them. She knew that he gave Madison her power to be so assertive without insecurity. Cass was gifted with a strong stubbornness that she recognized from Draco's own.

But, was it the best way for them to live? Should she let an entire lifetime pass with a large part of themselves remain divided?

Hermione gazed at her friend with sudden doubt. "Am I mad?"

"It's Draco Malfoy. You'd have to be mad to tolerate him," Gin proclaimed. "Whatever it is that you see in the wizard, I'll never know, but I _do _know that you've spent most of your life saving him because you're entirely too selfless and I've told you a million times that you need someone to ruin your kids because they're already too brilliant for their own good. Malfoy is the perfect bad influence."

"What if he doesn't want them?" Her voice was so small and childish. It'd been so long since she'd sounded so silly.

"Then you kick his arse into next year and move on. But you've got to try. Limbo is not working."

Limbo. Something was so comfortable about it. There was no space to hurt, no risk of danger.

Danger had been a second nature to Hermione, once. Her entire life was filled risk. Whether it was because of Harry and Ronald was neither here or there, but it was truth. She had been accustomed to the instability that came since entering the world of magic, yet she'd cowered back to her guarded self after it was all said and done. She'd taken her children and hidden away. Like a coward.

Gryffindors were known for much, except cowardice. They were brave. It was almost a fault.

Hermione rung her hands until they were red and ached. She'd forgotten just who she was in the web of lies she got herself tangled within. The only remedy to be seen was to rectify at the source, starting with a long, brutal, honest conversation with Draco about what precisely occurred in their relationship that left them worlds apart. She had to do it. That much she owed him.

It was an insult to Ginny's nature to expect her to leave without seeing just how Hermione would look when she went back to Draco. She assisted with hair design. Her wand was more talented than Hermione's with spells that were for hygiene beyond the basic clear chapstick and braid. When she was distracted by a letter, Ginny casted a couple makeup spells.

By the time they were done, enough courage had mounted in Hermione's chest that she could have faced a dragon.

In fact, that was what she was going to do. A wounded, vulnerable dragon.

St. Mungos laid still. It was late in the evening when the crowd of patients was dispersed. Golden rays of a dying sun filtered in through pristine windowpanes. Long shadows clouded the white floors in unnatural shape. It was a depressed palette that decorated the building. The mood was very much matched to her own stirred sense of impending doom. Medi-witches and Healers walked the corridors more interested in the charts in hand rather than Hermione wandering through the hospital without a guide.

Whether it was her reputation or their distraction, she was glad.

She had anxiety to sort through. Drenched palms were evident of the stress. Five years of hiding out of the public eye thus away from Draco Malfoy made her exposed vulnerability feel like an open wound in the literal mass of her chest. Bleeding, gaping, blistering. That was the hole where he'd ripped out her heart with divorce papers and silence.

The silence hurt the worst.

Although she hated the divorce papers, too.

"Miss Granger? May I help you?"

A young medi-wizard finally noticed that she was a stranger within the halls. She tried her best to look innocent, not the guilt-ridden ex-wife with secret children of a pureblood prince that she was.

The wizard swept back his long sandy locks. "Are you here for the sick elves?"

She shook her head, too embarrassed to admit that she'd quit the cause. "I'm here to check up on Mister Malfoy."

"Oh. He's been checked out."

The wizard started on his way again. She rushed after him and physically grabbed his arm.

"Pardon? Did you just say that he left the hospital?" She gaped. He was not in the power to do such a thing.

So soon after the trauma! He nearly died. What the bloody hell was he thinking?

"He checked himself out," the wizard confirmed.

"Did Healer Longbottom approve this?"

He shrugged. "Mister Malfoy did not care to listen to medical advice. He was warned of the possible pain and health risks of premature discharge. He was adamant that he was healed. Healthy enough to 'sue the ass off any man who tried stop him' if I recall correctly."

A voice down the hall called for the medi-wizard. He hurried off down to do his duties while Hermione simmered. Boiled.

That spoiled, hard-headed, unreasonable wizard!

If he thought she was going to idly stand by while he killed his selfish arse, he was in for a wicked shock.

She apparated to the long gravel driveway of Malfoy Manor. The crisp air of Wiltshire filled her lungs in the ragged raging breaths as she huffed toward the front door. If Astoria didn't understand the importance of healers, then Narcissa damn well should! The witch was so concerned with tradition that she took time out of her busy life to visit Hermione at work, yet she allowed her only child to storm out of St. Mungos against medical advice.

Hermione banged against the front door with her fists. "Draco Malfoy, if you think you've escaped me, I'm sorry to say you've got another thing coming."

She paced in front of the door until it squeaked open. From behind the large wood came a bright-eyed elf with a smile half the size of her face.

"Mistress Hermione!"

It was a voice of a long forgotten past.

"Hello, Cady. I'm sorry to interrupt -."

"No, mistress. You is welcome." She pulled the door open farther. "Please come in."

The invitation was welcomed. She helped herself right into the manor like she'd done before. It was her home for a part of her pregnancy when she was away from Hogwarts. Draco stashed her there to keep her safe. It turned not safe when Voldemort decided to reside there as his own death eaters headquarters.

Hermione tapped her toe on the floor. "Where is Draco?"

"In the suite, mistress. Shall I send for him?"

"No," she said. "Take me to him now."

"_Draco, what are you doing? We're so close," she said, flustered._

_On the run from Hogwarts caretaker, Filch, brought them into a cramped broom cupboard their fifth year. They'd been at a standstill. Their lives were pulled in two directions opposite one another. It was difficult. They were fighting more than they were amicable. She felt it was time to end it. She'd tried when Filch stumbled into the library after hours, ready to catch rule breaking students._

_ "I don't want it to be like this between us. I miss you. I want you." He pushed his forehead up against hers. His hot breath flushed her skin. "Please, stay."_

_She wrapped her arms around his neck, pushed her cheek against his chest and sighed. "Then you have to trust me. More than you trust anyone else, yeah? And I'll do the same for you."_

_His head fell against her shoulder. A damp spot appeared quietly. "I hate this, Hermione." _

_He swallowed back an audible sob. Her heart lurched. Draco never cried. He was so strong, so infinitely distant. There was no one breaking through his shell. Never. _

_Hermione hugged him closer, and he accepted himself deeper in her embrace._

_ "I know. I hate it too," she answered softly._

_ "No. I hate this. It's killing me to keep it up." Another sigh. "Every day I feel like a failure, a traitor, a coward. Then I see you, smiling or being just so irritatingly smart, and I feel rotten. Ashamed of who I am. Ashamed of all I've done. Know the worst part? The only person I want in those times is you. I just want to smell your hair, and feel you sigh beside me. It's just so easy. All of it. You're not complicated, everything else is."_

_Hermione held him as he sobbed into her shoulder, sure to cast a silencing charm of the closet to keep them protected. It was the last on her mind, being caught, but she wanted Draco comfortable. He was so pent up within his protection, he never let himself slip through because then he felt embarrassed. She hugged until her arms ached. Her kisses on his exposed neck for a bit of reassurance. It was all she could do. There was no other comfort to give._

_ "I hate this," he whispered again._

_The world was messed up. Corrupted. Everything their generation and next ones were entitled to was in danger of blowing to ash and leaving the realm of possibility. Even for kids just as Draco, too scared and bound into a world they didn't chose, forced to destroy it. _

_She let him weep in her arms for all the bad wills, malcontent and person he had to be, was forced to be, only knew to be before he met her. Draco was chained to the success of the Dark Lord, as she was in truth._

_Their lives depended upon outcomes, stacked against the other._

_Stray tears splintered the withheld demeanor she constructed. It was Draco's sorrow that ate its way under her skin as a burrowing tick. It fed on his heartbreak, bleeding to hers. _

_When his hands absently brushed against her cheeks, tears smeared. He pulled it back. But then he saw Hermione's face tortured by the same reality that never left his thoughts._

_ "Oh, darling," he cooed it so sweetly her pain melted. He rubbed her wet chin, sad smile upon his lips. For a moment he became distracted. She panted against him, teary-eyed and hurt, his despair just as deep. It felt like a moment of pleasure to watch her be so beautiful in the most natural way. _

_He cleared his throat, and sense of decency. "Listen to me. Listen. I love you, I do. With all my miserable old heart, I love you. And if there is a way, during all this shit, I can come to you, there will be nothing that can stop me. You understand? I will come for you. I will. Don't give up on me, ok? Promise me you won't."_

_Hermione sniffled back more tears. She tried to will them away – he'd said such a great thing – but it made her incredibly distraught. Being away from him in any capacity, not knowing. It was just about the cruelest she could think of._

_ "Hermione!" He said suddenly. "Promise. Promise me."_

_Why did it feel like a goodbye?_

_She wiped her tears away with a quick swipe. "I'll always trust you, Draco. There is nothing so black that will change my heart. Nothing."_

_ "Say it."_

_ "I promise," she murmured._

The elf dropped her right inside a suite, but it was not Draco's. He preferred dark colors, depressed and morose if she remembered correctly.

As she stepped deeper into the room, she realized just where she was. It was a memory, one she'd taken much comfort in. The barren bookshelves reminded her of just how homey her collection looked with the ebony wood. A stuffed chair sat near. So many a night curled up against that soft fabric. Mostly, fretting.

"Oh my Merlin." She dropped to her knees.

The place was unchanged. It was in the exact state they'd left it in all those years ago. A bent stem of a lilac in the same position that it was after she fled the compromised safety of Malfoy Manor.

There was a groaning on the other side of the door. Hermione jolted. The still was eerie in its silence until it was disturbed. She climbed to her feet, wobbly on the too-tall heels that Ginny demanded she wear. Sexy was not the vibe of the meeting. She questioned whether to continue wearing them.

She opted for removing them.

Hermione knew the way to the master room. She tread softly, treating the door as fragile as glass, and opened it slowly.

It was dark. The light of a single candle hardly illuminated the space.

"Lumos."

Blue light gave her a practical flashback that was near convincing she'd transported back in the Time Turner. The master, too, was in the same condition she'd left it in. It took her breath away.

She stepped inside, in total awe of the memory, until one shadow was unmatched in her mind. A line of blue light followed her gaze and ignited the shadow with clarity.

A slumped black suit with a hollow faced man inside laid against the floor, bottle of liquor in hand. A ruffled head of platinum blonde hair rested against the glass.

"Draco!" Hermione rushed to his side.

His body was limp, leaden in her arms. When he didn't rouse to his name, she pulled him over onto his back which exposed three more empty bottles of whiskey.

"Oh my god." She slapped his cheek a couple times. "Draco. Draco! Wake up, Wake up please. Don't leave me. Come on. You bloody idiot. Don't. Don't do this."

Draco laid in her arms like a lethargic corpse. His lids were closed. The translucent flesh radiated lines of blue blood. The cheek that she slapped still shown porcelain, not red. His body was despondent.

Alcohol poisoning.

Hermione rifled through her satchel under her coat. "Bullocks! Where is it?"

There were so many things she kept in that satchel. Everything from being on the run during the war left her constantly prepared for a medical emergency. Plus having children helped her paranoid tendencies reign unchecked.

She searched through her potion collection until her hands finally landed upon the one she searched.

Her lips sloped to a giant frown as she popped the cork from the vial. It was not going to be pleasant. With one deep breath, she poured the bile yellow potion into his mouth, ensuring that he swallowed the contents completely before poking his neck. His pulse, lax, ramped into high gear. It worked.

Draco suddenly gasped for air, gargled and then heaved across the floor and himself.

He trembled in violent spasms so strong that he couldn't stand. She hoisted up one shoulder and led him into the loo as vomit fell from his throat in large gushes. The entire front of his black suit was soaked through in awful hues unsavory in every way. It smelled. She struggled to keep her eyes open through the burn.

They both fell into the shower. A stream of cold water poured all over them as they laid against the dark tiles on the floor. She cradled his beautiful face in her hands to ensure all his vomit stayed clear of his airways and he didn't aspirate. The warmth of retch was disgusting. Vomit rose in the back of throat as alcohol-scented bile slid down her forearms.

His face was still bruised and discolored from his accident. Two dark circles encompassed his eyes. She touched them gently, running down the sharp edges of his face. He felt the way he used to. Soft and smooth. It was shocking that in the lifetime they'd been apart, she remembered the exact way he felt like an instinct rather than memory.

Their daughter resembled her father in shining clarity. Their noses were the same thin, pointy thing. A head of fine, light hair more delicate than a flower. She caressed her thumbs against the softness of his cheeks as she'd done with Cass the moment he was born, that same delighted touch of beauty of her imperfect flesh.

Water spilled over them for what felt like hours. She sat in awe for all that time. It wasn't until two gray eyes opened in their sunken sockets that she was able to breathe. They danced across her face in circles, confused. Then they narrowed and glared up at the shower head. He waved his wand. The icy water stopped.

"Hermione?" His voice was faraway. It was not the sound of a Malfoy.

"Yes, Draco. I'm here."

"I thought you'd never come back."

She pushed out a sad smile. "Couldn't leave you on your own, could I? Look at what's happened already."

His head lazily bobbed in her stretched palms. "Astoria's dead. My children dead. I've killed everyone and drove you away."

It was a punch in the belly to hear the heavy sadness in his voice. She just couldn't believe it.

"All of them? How? Dead how, Draco."

He startled to lull back to unconsciousness. His neck snapped back once, out of her reach. Hermione gripped his chin and shook it back and forth until his eyes popped open once more.

"It's my fault. I did it to them," he said.

"No. Don't say that," she answered softly. "It isn't your fault."

He shook his head. A deep cut frown changed his beauty to pain. It was unlike any expression she'd ever seen. He retracted from her touch back to the wall.

Open and dead, his eyes stared up at the ceiling. "I think of them every night. All of them. Especially ours. My son. My first son whose blood I had on my hands. I cursed him. My name sent them to their grave and broke the only woman I'd ever love."

She fell quiet. She didn't know what to say.

Their son. It'd been so long since they'd talked about him. A son made Draco so proud. He cherished the baby when she carried him with more care than he ever took for himself. Finally, a person he cared for more.

She'd taken that away from him.

She wiped away a fallen tear. "I'm sorry about Astoria. She seemed like a lovely witch."

"Yes. She was." He gulped. "But she isn't who I meant."

Draco caught her gaze. "I've only ever loved you. There is no other. There never was. Only you."


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Only. Only one.

But he married. He married Astoria not eight months after the divorce was finalized. She'd received her official copy through a Malfoy family owl when word first started that they were in courtship. Hermione had only just purchased a house for her children once she completed Hogwarts. It was in a beautiful Muggle neighborhood with excellent schools.

Not that he knew any of it.

All these years, she thought he hated her for leaving. One could also assume that meant he accused her of killing said child since he believed his son to not be alive. Never did she think that he'd blame himself.

Draco Malfoy, the hardened Slytherin who only cared for himself. That was his reputation.

She knew better. He was a different wizard. Truly, he was always. It was the very fact that brought them together as adolescents in school. A soft heart lurked underneath those sharp cheekbones and defined chin with more than a loyalty to himself and his parents' allegiances. He went beyond that. When he fell in love with her, there was nothing that could keep him away on pain of death or suspicion.

That was her own mistake believing that he'd blame her, not himself. The man was a bottle of emotion. Every thing another drop to add to his self-hatred guised as indifference to others.

She breathed in a shiver. "Come on then. Let's get you up."

"That stuff is disgusting."

"I'd say I'm sorry. If you didn't deserve a bit of foulness to remind you what a fool you are."

Draco harshly scoffed. "Fool is not the worst thing I've been called."

"It is the worst thing you are," she pointed out. She scratched her scalp in irritation. "Killing yourself after escaping death. That is brilliant. Almost thought you were a Gryffindor."

He laughed. Not just a chuckle or snicker. An actual laugh.

"After all this. After everything…" He shook his head. "A Gryffindor. That's not so bad, is it? Least it captured your attention, didn't it? Never could resist a Gryffindor, you."

"Don't. Don't do that." It was whispered with the softest plead she could bear.

To have the man you've loved since you were thirteen believe indifference or even perhaps hatred on your part was the most unflattering news to receive. It was a fact that saddened her deeper.

She helped Draco over to the bed. She'd offered to apparate him to his own suite, but he wanted to stay in Hermione's old suite. He curled below the comforter with a relieved sigh, fell limp once more against the sheets, however his hand still held onto her wrist. It was a reminder of many nights tucked into forgotten cupboards in Hogwarts where they played their lustful, teenage-romance type games of love and hate. There was a small sliver of her body that missed the thrill.

Hermione tucked him in gently. "I'll be by to check on you in the morning."

It roused him, slightly, from his rest. "Stay with me."

"That…that wouldn't be appropriate, Draco."

"Stay with me or I'll swallow another four bottles. Won't be able to save me then, will you?"

She narrowed her eyes. The gall of the wizard.

"Blackmail? That's the road you want to go down?"

He shrugged, hummed slightly. "I'm not above blackmail to keep you." He turned his head. An expressionless face laid there, a mask in heart-aching beauty to cover immense pain. Two dead gray eyes stared back. "It is all I have."

She huffed. "You could just ask me."

"I did," he said. "You told me no."

Of course she said no. If she stayed, she'd never bloody leave.

She crossed her arms. "I wasn't that firm in my answer, was I? One more time and I might've agreed to it. If you truly wanted me so bad, a little persistence would go farther than blackmail."

There was a harsh laugh.

"From what I recall, persistence only made you angry."

"Not that it ever stopped you," she retorted with a snap. "It was an endearing quality. One that you lost."

He released her wrist, albeit she more ripped it from his grasp with aa force that nearly wretched it from its socket. The wizard was so exhausted. His eyes were barely able to remain open. A lazy smirk contorted his lips when she took a seat at the desk, still topped with legal books on magical marriage.

She remained a rigid statue in the seat until his loud snores signaled the end of his wake.

Then, the bricks of her pent up exterior crumbled away as steady tears dribbled out her eyes down her cheeks to the point of her chin. She watched a wizard she loved with all her heart be a shadow of himself. A drunk. Poisoned. Tainted. Cursed to live with the grief of a dead wife and children, guilt over her when truly she was not hurt in the way he believed. She was full.

Hiding their children was the right choice. Nothing could convince her otherwise.

But, keeping them hidden. It was torture. She pushed him onto a bottle of firewhiskey and a lifetime of nightmares because she let her Gryffindor courage flee in the woes of a broken heart.

Hermione received the divorce letter at Hogwarts. During her returned seventh year.

The first instinct was not to sign it. More than anything, she wanted to go to him. Draco would not push her away if he saw his children, saw the son he worshipped faithfully. It was the only thing that saved him. It kept his hand from killing himself sixth year when she'd been out of Hogwarts, away from her friends, and he was slowly eaten away with the vile secret he held. Their son could have saved him.

She silenced her sobs as time dragged on. He slept peacefully in a drunken void as she felt every unstoppable wave of guilt crash over her.

It was pride that signed her name that day, on that bloody legal document. Pride. Stupid pride that she teased Draco about endlessly.

Even though she knew she could beg and present their son and earn back his love and place as his wife, Hermione refused to beg to be at his side, no matter how much she yearned to be there. If he wanted divorce, he got it.

"Hermione?" His voice split the dark night air.

She froze. "Yes?"

"Hermione." His voice rang again. It was louder, panicked.

He thrashed beneath the comforter. Limbs moved like snakes below sand. Strands of his brilliant hair splayed against the grey sheets and moved like tall grass in wind.

All of a sudden, his body started to tremble. Like a seizure.

Hermione gasped out, horrified at the man she saw before her.

He resembled nothing of the Draco Malfoy she heard about in the papers and gossiped about by her friends. Gone was the uptight, formal, confident wizard of a multi-million-pound company. Now stood the shadow of a walking corpse. Broken and tormented by his past.

She watched as he continued to scream and quake.

A gentle hand grabbed hers suddenly. Hermione saw a pair of sad eyes as they stared back at her.

"What's happened to him?" She asked the elf, not bothering to hide the utter destruction his state left her in.

It was as if she watched his death.

The elf patted her hand gently. "Cruciatus, mistress."

The long spread of Draco's hands lengthened as if ropes pulled each in a different direction. His back bent as whatever memory overtook his body. The terror upon his face made him unrecognizable. He was another being. Someone that Hermione cried for.

It was the dark core of Draco that she never saw. She knew it was there. It was the secret place where he placed his hurt, his fear, his insecurity, never to be seen by another. The shield – the person the world knew as Draco Malfoy – was abandoned somewhere so that the dark inner core of his soul rose up to wreak havoc.

She shuddered as her name plagued him with pain.

"Voldemort did this to him?"

"No, mistress Hermione. No." The poor creature's ears drooped as she watched her master contort in positions unfit for a human body to enjoy. "Lord Malfoy."

She sobbed audibly, just as loud as Draco "Lucius?"

Cady bowed her head. "We trieds the potions, the mistress and me. We trieds so hard to keeps him here." The little body started to quake, too. "The Dark Lord would kill young master if he knew. Mistress tried spells and potions. But he was too strong. He was leaving to finds you, miss. And Lord Malfoy found him first."

Another wave of pain washed through Draco's body. He screamed out for her once more.

The image of Lucius' wand turned on his only son flared bits of horror and rage. Anyone who cared in the least for Draco wouldn't relish the torture as his body writhed and shook, becoming bloody as the curse poured on, screams on his lips a plead for help, echoing through the desolate Manor.

She couldn't stand it any longer. Hermione climbed in bed next to him and pulled him in her embrace, allowing tears to fall across his face and in his hair as she hugged him tight against the thrash of his contortions until they subsided. His breaths became gentle against her flesh. Although he was lost deep in slumber, his arms instinctively wrapped around her waist as they always did and stayed there like two anchors.

Her lips pressed against his wrinkled brow.

"I'm so sorry, Draco." She whispered like a chant. "I'm so so sorry."

As she cradled Draco in the dark of their old shared suite in Malfoy Manor, the ancient house of his family, Hermione felt a magic stirred inside her. It was powerful and steady. The ache in her back immediately eased. She'd had a strain in one of her hands from all the nights of endless memo writing and gripping paint brushes with her children and holding a wand as much as she did. No spells ever alleviated the tension, yet as the unknown magic surrounded her, the muscles relaxed for the first time in over a year.

Draco stilled in his sleep. Breaths deep and strong. He was so comfortable that he buried his face against her chest in a way that made Hermione blush from years of being completely untouched by another.

The weight of the day weighed heavy on her eyelashes. She started to feel their delighted closure against the burn of her eyes, slowly sliding her deeper into the bed, when a small hand touched her arm.

"Are the childrens alright?" Cady asked. "They is alive, yes?"

Lost in the oncoming tide of rest, Hermione nodded absently. A wave washed over her, too, of exhaustion.

Her vision faded to black wrapped in his arms like days long past.

Morning greeted the uncharted suite within Malfoy Manor with a vibrance that ignited the entire room alight with emerging hope, something desperately needed within the decayed ruins of the ancient home. Shadows lingered within the Manor for too long. The sun pushed its fingers through every nook and cranny available. It brought an uplifted mood to the entire estate as beings of its inner workings rose for the day.

Elves sang as they worked. The first in a century.

Narcissa threw open the thick drapes of the rooms, allowing the sun's mighty wrath inside the dark, dank rooms too long engulfed in shame of the Dark Lord. She had vases of plump bloomed flowers every which way. The musty air of Malfoy Manor turned sweet as the flowers released their perfumes.

Even the lilacs of the suite surged with life as a veil lifted off Wiltshire. Their scent awoke Draco from a dark haze. His eyes opened slowly. A taste on his tongue was fouler than bile, but the air eased it as he breathed in the sweetness. It was not often a day started so pleasantly. Perhaps it would be a good day for him.

He froze when a moan pushed against his flesh. Hermione Granger. Her nose was pressed against the crease of his chest in peaceful slumber.

Draco's eyes grew twice their size. He ran his fingers through her wily curls.

Yes, she was real.

There. In his house. In his bed. In his arms.

Holy Salazar. He kept his body calm in the sickening shake that wanted to overtake him. The thrill of excitement, the bloody presence of her near brought deeply buried hope to the light and aroused his need to love her with every fiber of his being.

Draco wanted to cradle her in his arms and never let go. He couldn't.

As he pondered what to do, Hermione became acutely conscious. The prickling sensation of being watched pimpled her flesh. It was probably Cass wanting some breakfast. He did that some mornings.

She peeked her eyes open and, upon seeing a grown adult in her bed beside her, Hermione shrieked.

Draco stumbled away as she jolted.

"Oh my Godric!" She held her chest. "You scared me!"

He nodded. "Right."

"I thought you were Cass," Hermione said.

"Is that your boyfriend?" He asked swiftly.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Was she truly that stupid? She mentioned their son's name in front of Draco. The one thing she didn't want to do.

What the hell, Hermione, she chastised. She never slipped up by mentioning her children to anyone that didn't know of their existence. Their secrecy was the upmost priority.

But, she swore that she would tell the truth.

He needed to know. Her children needed to know.

"Of course not." She snorted in a sort of dismissive sound, though she was aware that it was more nervous than anything. "I don't have a boyfriend. I don't date, actually."

"Right."

The shield was back again. He was that Draco Malfoy she remembered, the one that everyone else knew, too. His posture was impeccable, noble, a king under a magnificent crown.

She missed the days of his scared little face. Or their stolen kisses. That bold little sneer he'd have some days, or the glint of tortured yearning he'd have across the Great Hall or in Potions.

Now all she saw was nothing. A blank slate. The hardened mask of a Malfoy unwilling to show any sign of vulnerability or humanity.

Hermione slid off the bed, happy to rip her eyes off his. It was entirely inappropriate that she stayed.

"I have something to tell you," he said. "I did not get a chance to finish in St. Mungos."

She stayed on her side of the bed, facing away from him. Looking him in the eye would be her undoing.

"I was not the one who asked for a divorce. My father had that papers sent to you, behind my back. If I'd have known I would have…it doesn't matter. When I signed them, I believed them your wish."

He paused. She hadn't realized just how tense her body went. It was only natural though to learn the source of her frustration of all her years was Lucius and not Draco.

Not that it was new. Lucius was always the thorn in their relationship.

"It wasn't your idea, was it?" Draco asked.

"No! For freaking bloody sakes no!" She was overcome with anger. "I can't believe that you think I'd want one. After everything…after all we'd been through…why? Why on Earth would I want that?"

"How am I supposed to know what you want, Hermione? I've tried and tried but I just can't figure it out. I may know you. Know you better than anyone else. And I may love you. But what you want is something I'll never understand. You ran away when I was in hospital when I was in desperate need of you and you stayed last night when I wanted to be rid of everything forever. So tell me what you want. Right here. Right now. Tell me. What do you want?"

She wanted him. She wanted him back. She wanted a life with him and their children.

Was it even possible?

"You married," she mumbled. "You married someone else."

Draco ran a hand through his messy tangled hair, pulling knots as he went. "I had no choice. I had to."

"Did you love her?"

Why did she ask? What did she want to know?

Hermione pinched her thigh just as hard as she could to focus on something more painful than the answer she knew she would hear: he loved someone else more. Astoria was a beautiful witch. She was gifted in many manners of soft grace and elegance. The witch was pureblood with many vaults to her family name. All in all, she was everything that Hermione was not.

"Yes," Draco answered. "Just not in the way you believe."

"Did she make you happy?"

Again, she was a glutton for the horrifying punishment. She had to know about this other woman who bewitched her ex-husband.

"To the best of her ability. To her credit, I am a lost cause. I shall never be happy."

Hermione stood up and suddenly faced him. "What is it that you want from me, Draco? Do you want me to apologize for what I did during the war? Do you want me to be sorry for doing what I did for everyone, you included? Do you want things to go back to the way they were, like none of this ever happened?"

He scrunched his brow. She glared right back.

Her past was filled with moments in which she felt guilty. She hid many things from him. In the end, she was glad of it because he'd been marked by the Dark Lord, a servant to the madman's will. But those deceptions rotted her core. They ate at her little by little.

If he had the gall to declare her the reason for his unhappiness, she'd hex him right there in his ruined suit and awful bruised face.

As her piercing glare turned as menacing as she could muster, there was a visible shift within him. His body relaxed. He hadn't the icy glare of a Malfoy. The scowl easily etched upon his lips fell away.

"What was it like?" He asked her. "That night."

That night. The night it all changed.

"Please, don't ask me that."

"Did it hurt?" His voice was soft. His gaze intense. She felt her heart literally break inside her ribs. "Did you suffer?"

She nodded slowly. "I nearly bled to death."

Draco looked down at his shoes for a long while. His breaths were audible along with the gulping swallows that pulled at his Adam's apple. He stood that way for a very long time.

Finally, he raised his head but not his gaze. "And was he…"

He couldn't finish the statement. He shook his head furiously.

Rebellious tears fell down her cheeks. She swiped them away. It was more emotional than she thought it'd be.

"He was beautiful. An angel in my arms. I couldn't believe we made something so perfect."

"He'd be five now, wouldn't he?"

Unable to tolerate the pain in her voice, she nodded.

Merlin, she'd tortured him more than she imagined. There was so much pain inside him. It was a wonder he hadn't turned black in all the darkness inside him.

"I wish I could have seen him," he revealed. "I wish I could have seen him and held him. Touched his hair. He did have hair, didn't he?"

More tears stained her cheeks. "Yes." She nodded. "A head of brown hair."

Draco choked. "Brown?"

He was moved by the news. He brought his hand to his chin. It hid the fact that he was trying not to cry. It may had been many years since she saw him cry, but she remembered it vividly. His chest moved in exaggerated motions, his eyes unable to focus on one thing too long or the water would escape.

"None of them had brown hair," he mumbled. "It was blonde. Like me. They were all like me. And my son, my first son. He would have…he looked like you."

Hermione wretched her hands together, ringing them red, bright red and tender to the touch, as the admission rose in the back of her throat. It was the time. There was no better opening. No better time.

She opened her mouth, the words perched at the tip of her tongue.

"I'd very much like to see him," Draco stated after a long recovering breath. He regained his composure, back to his usual cold self. "You may not want a thing to do with me anymore, but I'd like to see our son. He deserves to know how much his father cared for him."

Yes. Yes, that she could do.

She wiped away her tears, wrote down her address and handed it over to him. "Come by at six. I'll introduce you."

"Will you be off by then?"

"The Ministry no longer requires my late nights."

He scoffed. "Don't tell me you've become Minister in the short time I was out."

"I've actually become one of the few to leave the Ministry in favor of unemployment."

"You resigned?"

Resigned. Of course, he'd try to make it sound so regal, professional. That was a Slytherin's way. Not hers.

She felt a renewed sense of herself align with her body. "The correct terminology is quit. I quit."

The slip of paper stayed in his fingers as a dainty piece of lace. He kept it perched gently. It did not crinkle in his grasp nor bend in the slightest. He glanced away from the address.

"Your reason being…?"

"I can explain it tonight." She casually deflected. "You'll be there, won't you? If you're busy - ."

"A man like me pays people to be busy for him," he said. "I will be there. I've only got one appointment for this afternoon."

She nodded. "See you then."

Draco summoned up Cady to take Hermione home. The little elf jumped with excitement. It was an honor for her to serve her mistress. She apparated them to the Muggle house that Hermione called home. The little eyes beheld the canvas frames of the two little Malfoy heirs with interest. A single finger traced the curve of Madi's face.

Hermione felt suddenly uncomfortable.

"She resembles the master."

She crossed her arms. "Yes, she does. She's very much like him."

"She kepts you up all night," the elf said.

That disarmed Hermione.

"How did you know that?"

"Master Draco being the same ways, mistress." The elf smiled a bit when her eyes turned to Cass' face. "This one resembles the master, too. Only with brown hairs. He is special, yes mistress?"

There were unknown depths to elf knowledge. They learned things, felt things through their magic in ways unheard of within wizards. Hermione often pondered just how their magic worked. It was a polite interest, however, the elves kept their lives very secret, even from the families they served. The society of elves found it very taboo to share things with the outside world.

It left Hermione's curiosity very unwelcome amongst them.

"You don't seem surprised about them, Cady." The elf was utterly bewitched by the two faces. She continued to stare and trace with her finger. "How did you know?"

"Us elves are bounds to our homes, the families we serves. It was the house that told me," the elf answered. "Beings your personal elf, it called me to the little Malfoys. Each time."

Hermione swallowed. The secret hadn't been so secret. Cady knew. Did the others know too?

"But you didn't know me then. Not with Madi."

"You were bound to be Mistress long before then, Mistress," Cady said. "That was when I came to be knowing of your magic and of Master Draco's around yours. The child made its presence known."

Had the Dark Lord learned about such treachery, Draco would have been slain on sight.

Hermione lowered herself even with the elf. "Thank you for protecting them. That was a huge sacrifice."

The creature radiated with joy. It was not often they received recognition. Elves were unsung heroes in most magical facilities and homes, a fact often ignored by the wizarding world. That was a huge reason why Hermione was drawn to their cause; creatures like house elves were taken for granted and the fruits of their labors were taken credit by wizards. She related to their cause because she, too, often felt a stomped-upon commodity.

Cady smiled. "The children of the master are Cady's purpose. She is not to let a thing happens to them."

What had she done?

The Malfoy's cherished their offspring like literal gold. They dedicated their lives to the continuing legacy that was their blood. So many beyond Draco would care and protect her children. House elves laid down their lives for children they never met or even saw. Narcissa hadn't betrayed a word of their existence either. Or Lucius, to a lesser more disturbing extent.

Just what had she denied her children?

**A/N:**

**SO SORRY FOR MY ABSENCE ON MY STORIES. I moved across the states, I had another baby, bought a house and moved yet again. It's been crazy in my life, and I am very sorry. My stories, like this one, are NOT abandoned. Things have settled down. They will be getting more steady updates as much as I can produce. I'm thankful and grateful for all the support. TLTS Revealed has been a baby in my heart, the continuation of my first fanfiction story ever written. I have big plans for the story. I promise. Lots more to come! **


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Draco stepped through green flame into a darkened room. It was midday. He squinted hard through the black to find steady ground. It was difficult. There were books in front of the fireplace. He stomped through, a chorus of snapping and shuffling, until he bumped into one of the brown leather recliners he knew were there but distinctly knew were usually a few feet back.

He mumbled a spell. Dark lifted into steady daylight from an Italian sun and observed the changes in the room.

Books littered the floor. Many were open to landscapes, old books of classic paintings. Some held creatures. An old Hogwarts textbook, _Fantastic Creatures and Where to Find Them, _displayed a large Hebridean Black dragon found north in Scotland.

It'd been many years since Draco observed the book. He lifted it from the wooden floor. The pages were well worn from a year of study; his own copy looked very the same when he was done with it. It laid around the manner somewhere, probably buried beneath all his other texts that were stacked in a neat pile in his boyhood room. Wait, no. It'd been moved. The uncharted suite held it on one of its shelves.

A bit of light reading.

Suddenly a white doorway appeared off to his left.

"Drake?" The voice asked, confused. "You're early, and this isn't your office."

Draco smirked. "Doing a bit of research, are you? Or is your own office like this all the time?"

A wand summoned the books from the floor back to their original places. Small bits of parchment and quills flew back to a desk in the corner of the room, tucked safety inside their drawers.

Draco swore he saw a little pink jumper fling itself into a nearby closet.

"We planned to meet at your office, if you don't recall. On account of your near-death experience. You do remember that, don't you?"

Near-death was hardly his issue.

"I thought I'd surprise you," Draco remarked. "You like surprises, don't you, Blaise?"

The fellow Slytherin was tense through his shoulders, taut across his blades and into his chest. A black cast of his squinty eyes over his shoulder convinced Draco the wizard was hiding something.

The pair stayed silent as the mansion settled into a matching still, only disrupted by the flow of Muggle traffic below an opened window.

Blaise was rather dressed down for a workday. Only a starched white shirt, burnt orange tie, straight black trousers and Oxfords. Since the wizard would never enter public in anything else than a four-piece suit, Draco was already suspicious. His friend was an absolute tosspot if he didn't realize just how strange the encounter was. Considering they were lifelong friends and had seen each other through almost every circumstance of life.

After a good minute, tension fell slightly from the wizard's shoulders.

"Well let's go on with it then," he stated. "You'll forgive if I don't have anything prepared. I wasn't told of your plans to just show up unannounced. Perhaps owl next time."

"Doesn't seem to bother you when it is the Manor in which arrive, unannounced," Draco answered with a coy smile. "Thought to myself it was time to repay the favor."

Blaise smiled but said nothing. Instead he summoned a house elf and requested an array of whatever lunch items they could amount on short notice. He assured the stressed elf that it was a last-minute change. Anything was fine.

Comfortable and seated across from one another, Draco crossed his legs as he studied his friend in the other chair.

It was noticed.

"There something you have to say, Drake, or do you just like to admire my beauty?" His eyes lifted open slightly as he smiled.

"You know how I prefer my affections to be more feminine, not that I don't appreciate the effort."

Blaise rolled his eyes. "Let me guess. There is something bothering you, and since you can't riddle it out, you came over to amuse yourself until the answer presents itself."

"That's the plan."

"Of course, it is," Blaise said with annoyance.

Tea arrived. He was satisfied with his treats and tea for moments, until he turned back to Draco, almost lost in a daydream. He observed a moment until cold gray eyes met his stare.

The wizard shrugged. "Care to tell me who's stumped your mind, or should I just continue to be your muse? I do have the perfect dress for it."

"That I'm sure you do." Draco sighed.

It was frustrating. Granger.

She was the most puzzling. There were signs he knew from his time as a teenage boy head over heels in love with her, signs that were only part of her nature near him, and yet, she threw up roadblocks at his every attempt.

What on Earth was she playing at? Some grander scheme was afoot. He just knew it.

Since she popped back into his life, he was utterly hooked on hope. A deadly venom, hope. Slow and painful. He writhed in fury as he wrestled with choice. A choice he thought he made with a bottle of whiskey the previous night. But, now. He was unsure.

The demons of hope arose with a chorus of "she stayed."

There was so much on the line if he were to pursue her despite her known pain, especially if she was unresponsive toward his affections. It wouldn't be cold. There were pieces of her that loved him still, he knew, but what kept them locked away? Why push him away so strongly?

"I've come to question my life choices," he finally revealed.

The fellow Slytherin was unaffected by the revelation.

"No kidding." Blaise set his tea cup down on top of sparkly new porcelain saucers. "Which ones in particular?"

"Marrying Astoria."

The pause in reply captured Draco's attention once more. He watched the debate in Blaise's features as the man struggled with reply.

He was the only wizard apart from his mother and father who knew of Granger and their marriage. It was possible he wrestled with the option to mention Granger. Quite good ploy. Still, Draco kept it at the back of his mind with his other suspicions.

Blaise finally had an answer. "Astoria did seem an odd choice for you. Frail, soft, compliant. Not your type at all."

"It was more than that with her. We were friends when we married. Good friends after our courtship," Draco said. "I cared for her as my wife. Never lied. I should have known better than to push that on her. All my darkness. I knew of the family curse, my inability to produce living children. She deserved better than a husband who was so marked with displeasure by Fate."

Any Slytherin was blessed with an expressionless face. Blaise was gifted in that particular trait. The faint quiver in his throat as he swallowed was a drop in a shield that Draco recognized.

He leaned forward in his seat. "What?"

"Nothing," Blaise said quickly. Too quickly to be a real answer.

"Go on. Out with it," he snapped.

"Drake, seriously…"

Anger flared at the tips of his fingers. "Say it."

"People do odd things in the name of love!" Blaise exclaimed, suddenly. It ripped through the peaceful still of the atmosphere more than Draco's moods did.

He sat only momentarily stunned.

Blaise's gaze dipped low, as did his voice. "Some would get themselves killed for love how they perceive it. Astoria isn't the only one to give an ultimate sacrifice for love. In her mind, it was for the best. To free you."

"I didn't want to be freed," Draco growled. "She was my wife, my duty."

"Choice ain't yours, mate. It was hers. And she loved you more than herself so she gave it up so that you might find it on your own." There was a sadness in his eyes. "Her note."

They fell into a quiet silence. Tea and lunch was still. Neither wanted to break its calming spell.

For once since her death, he felt he understood it better. Rather than guilt, he respected it.

Time ticked by on an analog clock in steady rhythm until it was disrupted by the 'pop' of apparition.

Blaise leapt to his feet. "Mother! I thought you were going to be gone all afternoon."

His brows turned tense, furrowed together as he observed the woman in the center of his office with one child in her arms, the other holding onto her hand. The one in her arms had streams of tears down his face, down wet puffy cheeks.

"I was, love. Cass just can't settle," she said as Blaise lifted the small child out of her arms. "I think he wants you."

The young girl let go of Mrs. Zabini's hand and stepped away with a wrinkled nose. "We were only at the beach for a minute."

"Hush, you." Blaise pulled the boy close, but the stray tears down his pale cheeks pulled Blaise into the other room alongside his mother, who whispered something between the pair.

The girl was all but forgotten as the two left.

It was only Draco and her left.

Draco didn't know what to make of it. His friend would have told him if he had children, especially ones as old as these. The two were well conceived before the war even started if he guessed right.

The girl shuffled around the room staring at the floor. He thought she dropped something when her eyes suddenly shot up and observed the bookshelf. Her eyes lit up as she took in all the titles. She must have been the one who dragged out all the books. Her dainty fingers grabbed hold of the _Fantastic Beasts_ text, walked through the maze of his office and sank into Blaise's abandoned chair without a glance at him.

He felt discomfort. His presence was not easily ignored. Most people found him threatening, menacing. She held no visible response as he remained perched firm in his seat.

She flipped back to the pages about dragons, eyes wide as saucers as she read through the words.

"It's not polite to stare," she said from behind the opened pages.

Draco was taken aback. He cleared his throat.

"It's not polite to ignore a guest."

"Mum says not to talk to strangers." Her eyes peeked up from the book for a moment. "Duh."

Rude.

He opened his mouth to snip something back, when the door burst open again.

"Carina?" Blaise asked frantically.

The boy in his arms squirmed and cried softly. His little face rubbed back and forth against Blaise's chest. Smears of tears and bogeys appeared on the man's shirt as he scoured the room for the little girl. When they finally found her across from Draco, he sighed in relief.

"Thank Salazar."

She was unmoved by his concern. "Mum said you're supposed to call me by my name."

"It is your name," Blaise huffed. "Just not your first one. Scooch. Your brother doesn't feel good."

"He never feels good." The girl sighed as she raised out of the seat and took her book with her.

Child in his arms and concern on his face, Blaise reached out to the girl's shoulder. "Hey. We'll go to the beach later. Stop being such a whiny Gryffindor."

That seemed to rile the girl up. The look of death on her fixed face. Pure red colored her skin.

She crossed her arms cross her small frame. "I'm not a Gryffindor."

"You sure? You're acting like one."

Draco swallowed a chuckle.

"I'm a Slytherin," Carina snapped.

"Don't think so. Slytherins don't act that way."

The girl's eyes narrowed. "Oh yes they do. Mum knew one just like me, and he was the best Slytherin ever."

An awkward tension fell over Blaise as he settled in the seat with the young boy wrapped in his embrace.

"Carina, please."

She stomped away, book still in her hand.

Draco shifted in his seat. "I didn't think you liked kids."

A face ripped out of Blaise's close embrace, suddenly stopped crying, to stare at Draco closely. His little gray eyes absorbed his face in such intensity that sudden discomfort pushed Draco back to his chair, looking away from the child.

What was his bloody problem?

"I don't," Blaise finally replied after the boy settled against his chest once more. "Just these ones."

"They yours?"

That brought forth some amusement.

"Does it look like any chocolate love went into these?"

No. Now that Draco looked closer, he noticed many light features including their complexion being closer to his than anywhere near Blaise's dark. The boy had light colored eyes and the girl wore long blonde braids down her back. They were too skinny and long-legged to be Zabinis.

The world chocolate raised some need inside the boy. He perked up, touched Blaise's hand and clapped his hands together. Any other child would respond the same way to the word. Draco, himself, had a sweet tooth as a child. Only. He was more vocal.

Blaise summoned a chocolate bar to calm him.

"He's mute," Draco said as he suddenly realized.

His friend pushed his lips into a sad expression. "He had some traumatic experiences. After that…he never spoke."

"He's not stupid. He just can't talk" The girl growled from her corner of the room. Whatever it was about Draco, she was not impressed with. It prickled his long-abandoned pride to have someone disregard him so easily. "Uncle Blaise, who is he?"

Draco and she locked eyes for a stilled moment. The warm brown swirl in her eyes sparked with flares of frustration was familiar.

Blaise glanced over at his friend for a moment, torn. "That is Draco Malfoy, Lord of noble houses Black and Malfoy."

Her gaze zeroed in on said company with unbridled curiosity. He straightened taller in his seat; a Malfoy was always a forbidding presence. The girl was not impressed by his appearance since she continued her visual inspection of him without a glance at his face.

Carina wrinkled her nose. "What's that mean?"

Now it was his turn to interject, aghast. "Are they Muggles?"

"Muggle!"

The girl was upset by the term.

She rose up from the floor, hand outstretched, and suddenly the teapot levitated and shattered against the floor.

Blaise covered the boy's face in his arms, red flare of frustration in his features. "Carina!"

The girl hardened her stare. "I'm going to my room."

"Be sure to get a new attitude while you're in there!" Her guardian shouted after her.

"After you get yours!"

She slammed the office door behind her as she left.

The room fell quiet in the wake of her meltdown. Unlike any other girl he'd met, apart from one. Or two, if you counted girl Weasley, though her breeding discounted the notion. A born Gryffindor always reacted so outwardly. It was in their nature.

The other was known for a calmer demeanor, until her temper was sparked. Then all the courage in the world could not save another from a hex at the end of her wand.

It was a rush to remember the days where hexes flew freely down halls and in pesky childish pranks. Memory of the war eventually soured those, too.

Draco glanced back at his friend, shaking his head. "She's going to be a storm. That much power and she's not even at Hogwarts yet. How old is she even?"

Blaise nodded. "Just turned seven. She's a whirlwind all the time. But it's worse now. Without their mum... They are here for their own protection."

"Protection that the Ministry can't provide." Draco observed the boy under quick speculation. He hadn't ever seen the child in any paper before. Most anyone important was followed around by paparazzi for their entire life yet this boy was a clean slate. "Their parents must be important."

"They are."

"Didn't know you knew anyone important, Zabini."

Despite the child laying in his arms perfectly content and quiet, Blaise was unusually animated.

He flipped up his middle finger. "You mean, other than you. Prat."

Draco chuckled. "You've been holding out on me."

There was a small twinge of jealousy in his own heart as he watched the boy curl into Blaise's embrace tighter, still watching Draco very closely, clinging with both hands for dear life to someone who brought him comfort. Protective and safe. The boy was only four, five years old, and he had the treasure of a lifetime before him. Someone to depend on.

It was a relationship Draco greatly wished for. He'd already started one at a young age when he thought fatherhood was in his future. It was an incredible time. A love so deeper bonded in the soul. Part of him still felt that presence, that undying love for a little being he created but never got to see.

He loved all his children deeply. Their memories were all guarded in the recesses of his heart. Yet that one. The one child he didn't get to see. It moved somedays. The magic pulsated through him, surged at times. It almost called out to him. A need of a protector, of safety, of a father.

It had to be his love for Hermione that kept the bond so strong. His magic was so aligned with hers. His heart entirely molded around hers. She was the reason that it never died. Nothing of hers ever died inside him.

"You close with them?" Draco couldn't stop himself from asking.

His friend wiggled in his seat, under the weight of a collapsed toddler, Draco reasoned.

"Very. It might not seem like it with Miss Crabby Pants there, but we're all very close," Blaise answered after a while of glancing down at the child in his arms like he was concerned beyond reason. "Their mother had me around from the beginning. I'm Uncle Blaise, to them, you know. And after the war, their mum had nobody. So, I just helped fill the void. Carina is my little buddy when she's not off in her fits."

"She seems fit for Gryffindor."

"Ha, yeah. She's got her moments," Blaise chuckled softly. "But her dad was a Slytherin. She has moments just like him, too. I think it can go either way."

_Gryffindor and a Slytherin_. That was news.

"Slytherin. Really? Who was he? Gotta be years older than us."

Blaise lifted a brow. "Why years? It could have been one of our classmates who made him."

Draco scoffed. "Granted, I would have remembered something like that happening. Everyone would have blown their stack. But nobody was getting laid that much."

"Weren't you?"

"Course, I was. But I know he isn't mine," Draco said.

There was a drop in the mood as Draco's eyes lowered to the floor. "Mine don't come out live, remember?"

A clatter out in the hallway raised eyes to the office door once more. He doubted it was a house elf, since they were bred to be graceful and careful to their master's things. No, it was the whirlwind back for another spell.

Draco started to rise out of his seat, suddenly sick with the company of children he was denied to having himself. He didn't care about someone else's. They weren't Malfoys. What did they matter to him?

He turned to leave, Floo powder already Accio-ed in hand, when a door swung open with a startling shriek. "Caspian Regulus Granger! You went in my room, again, and touched my canvas. It's ruined now!"

Hand outstretched filled with gray grit, he stopped in place.

"Granger?" Draco muttered.

"Carina!" Blaise exhaled; eyes blown wide.

Draco spun on toe. Eyes landed on his friend who was also frozen in a state of disbelief. Dark fingers covered his mouth even though the little boy's head fought against the uncomfortable hold.

The look stuck on his old mate's face left little doubt of what the truth of things were.

"These are Granger's kids." Draco growled. When Blaise made no move to answer rage boiled below the surface. "Are these Granger's kids, Blaise? Answer me! Are these Hermione Granger's kids?"

His anger captured the boys, Caspian, attention. Two round grey eyes looked up into his own, their shades and examining stare a reflection of the other. There was no fear buried deep inside those deep black pupils. They watched his actions now like a live play, every movement and thick swallow. Draco was suddenly aware that it was his own son.

_His _son.

He'd just screamed in front of his own son.

Draco ran his fingers through his slick hair, a downward spiral in his vision. He fought against the black as it closed in, but it pushed harder and harder through until it was everywhere.

He watched Blaise leap to his feet, Caspian dropped into the vacated chair and suddenly, a taut grasp was at of Draco's arms. Both held him at his feet as his head pulled him backward, toward the floor. It was a stronger force than the will to stand upright.

Sting of Blaise's nails shot through his arms. His magic awakened, sharp awareness came to his mind once more. Black faded away from the edges of his eyes.

"Alright, alright." He pushed his friend away but staggered a second. A hand shot out. It gripped his arm again, forced down to the chair.

The silence of his friend was noted. Confirmation of what he knew to be true.

Of course, there was much on his tongue he wanted to say. So much. Loads, actually. It'd take him three whole days just to finish.

Carina marched up, a white canvas in her hand, thick pout on her small mouth. "Look what Cass did to my painting!"

Draco had almost forgotten her temper in his own suffocation of reality as it crashed down around him. Now that he focused in on the girl, Granger in his mind, he saw the resemblance now. Not just to her mother who obviously supplied the love of books and those warm puppy dog eyes, but a very clear relation to Narcissa Malfoy with whom she nearly resembled as a twin.

_His child, his daughter_.

But he only had one. A son.

Draco glanced at Caspian in the chair across from him. He fit. He was five, and a boy. But a girl? She never told him about a girl. Another child born before their marriage, their commitment. There was no doubt that she was his own blood. A Malfoy heiress.

An actual living Malfoy heir. Two of them!

"Madi, please." Blaise was still in pause. His hands pressed against his trouser pockets, slight divots from his moist fingers. "Not now."

"But it was perfect. I worked on it for so long," the girl whined.

"Madi Carina? That's her name?" Draco's mind was starting to work again. "Or, Carina Madi?"

He had to know everything.

Blaise stopped short. The girl was not so fazed.

"It's Madison. Madison Carina." She placed her hands on her hips. "I was named for the only ship that made it passed the Symplegades. The first to overcome the impossible. Second brightest star in the night sky. That's why Mum gave it to me."

The girl had no idea just how fitting it was. The first to overcome the impossible. That damn Granger!

She turned and pointed to her brother. "That's Caspian Regulus. Brightest star of Leo, the mighty lion of my mother. The Kingly Star, they call it. Because he's a prince, too. Meant to be someone special just like my father."

Her little twinkling eyes beamed up at Blaise. "Right, Uncle Blaise? She named us because we're special. We're important. Right?"

The Italian's dark eyes aligned with Draco's. A reassuring nod of his chin. "Yes, Carina. You're very special."


End file.
